Verge of Tangibility
by wedgie
Summary: Strange and violent occurrences with a lack of plausible enemies leave the brothers turning towards one another as possible culprits. Halloween Inspired! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter One

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards. o)

So. I love halloween. And to celebrate it, I wanted to write a story. Now, the problem with that is... well. I can do funny. I can do cynical. I can probably even do a little angsty. But creepy? I'm not a creepy person... really. I'm not. Stop looking at me like that. ...So bare with me here!

* * *

Too quiet; Too silent. Silence bribes the mind to wander. To wonder. To remember. Glass shatters against the wall. Someone screams. He frantically spins. Nothing. He still remains hidden. Weapon in hand, he cautiously continues to turn.

But what about him? Was he hurt? Scared? Alone? Bleeding? Dead? Rotting?

Spinning stops, but the room keeps spiraling. A table overturns. Dizziness prevents suitable action. Rather than stepping towards the source, he stumbles back. They catch him? No. He swings desperately; violently.

The world around him crashes and burns. But he is free once again. Glass flies. Another thud against the enclosing space. The room is shrinking? Is it harder to breathe?

Something white goes by in a flash. He strikes. Gasps for breath. Suffocating? He falls to his knees. No, he is shoved.

He can not fail. Stand up! At least crawl. He's depending on him. Shadows loom over him now. Something new. His hand is empty. They take his weapon. So he kicks back and feels the impact. He hears a screech behind him. The shadows start to circle. Like vultures waiting for dinner to die.

Standing is not an option. On his hands and knees, he tries to flee, to find the one desperately waiting for his assistance. Unable to breathe. Immobilized. Another scream. He is close.

Must get to him. Need to save him. Have to free him from this.

From them.

A thick liquid pours down his arm. Glass rains down from above. Blaring again. It is louder. Closer. So close. The wall is touching him now. Trapping him. No air. No space. So crowded.

They are doing this. The corrupt. The contaminated. And their degenerate master.

They know he knows.

Once they were his family. Now, his tormentors. Something heavy falls on the back of his shell and his plastron hits the floor.

Shadows engulf his trapped body. He is terrified. Pinned. Losing is not an option, though. He has to save him. Protect him. Be his shield against this sickness.

More screaming. Constantly now. Booming crashes take over and the sounds are deafening. He wants to cover his ears but uses his strength to move again instead.

Weight is off his back. Air finds its way back into his lungs. He does not move, but the room moves around him.

Darkness now. Something big takes out the light. Conscious, though. It was just the light. He feels the wall. The sturdy wall; his new found support. And he inches alongside his only friend.

Something brushes up against him. Someone. Reflective eyes stare through him. Hot breath clings to his flesh. He lands a solid punch, but to no avail. It did not budge.

Remaining calm is no longer an option. The light gave him some hope, but now it is gone. Nowhere to hide. He can not run. Something unavoidably awful is going to happen now. Because he knows this beast. And what it wants.

… He is watching … He is always watching … He is always waiting … Always whispering naughty things … It is his fault this is happening … It was always his fault … He makes him suffer … He forces this upon him… While he is watching…

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Two

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards. o)

* * *

Usually arguments did not start before 8:00a.m., but here he found himself, being torn from his pleasant dreams by a screaming match down the hall. If he had a window, Donatello would have had some reflection on how the sun was not even up yet, but alas, he would have to rely on the digital green "5:23" to make this assumption. Therefore, it was only a theory that the sun was up, as he could not actually observe and prove it. Theory also supports that the sun comes up every day in existence, but it was not a fact. Perhaps today was the day the sun simply refused to rise and shin - -

"Unacceptable, Raph!" The argument brought him back to reality and begrudgingly, he crawled from his nice warm bed. Of course Raphael was involved. There would not be yelling if Raphael was not involved.

"Get off my ass, Leo. Or I swear yur gonna get it." Donatello's slow stumble morphed into a quickened pace.

He squeezed his eyes almost shut at the light, brought up his arm to block it, and risked a gander down the hall. The scene was exactly as he pictured it: his two older brothers, one standing defensively with crossed arms and the other invading defensive brother's personal bubble with wild motions, intensely staring down at the other.

"You were the last one to bed, Raph-a-el." Leonardo narrowed his eyes at his aggressive sibling. "And you can not control your temper." Leonardo shifted his head slightly as if resting his case with those cold hard facts.

"Ain't the last one ta bed if you were watchin' me, Jackass." Raphael stuck his finger barely an inch from Leonardo's nose. "'sides, why would I break Donnie's stuff if I'm pissed at _you_ all tha time." He gritted his teeth and thinned his eyes in response.

"Guys, please." Donatello interjected as he moved down the hallway to derail this argument. "What's broken? I'm sure it's not a big deal." Donatello yawned and rubbed one of his eyes as they both turned to him.

Neither of them looked eager to face him. Since when was he the law of the household? That was usually Splinter's gig. Perhaps he finally gained the respect he deserved as a great and all powerful mediator.

"You're uh... not gonna wanna go downstairs, Donnie…" Raphael not so smoothly cut short the quiet. His anger seemed drained. Something else took over. Guilt?

Of course, Raphael did nothing more than peak genius's curiosity and so immediately for the stairs Donatello turned. Leonardo's echoing sigh behind him did not exactly relieve his rising suspicion that there was something more than a broken gadget awaiting him.

Halfway down the staircase, he stopped his decent. A trail of wires and broken materials mingled at the bottom. His eyes followed the mess, panning slowly to where those supplies were supposed to be: his laboratory. The door was ajar and darkness seeped from the opening. He sensed his two brothers falling in line behind him, so he continued to trek down.

Their feet were hard calloused from years of barefoot adventuring in the sewers, but the amount of glass was still overwhelming. Donatello avoided the shards to the best of his ability as he peaked into his lab. The light was out. The room was completely dark. None of the buzzes and blinking lights he was fond of greeted him as per usual. He stumbled in and fumbled where a shelf was supposed to be, a shelf with a flashlight, but only found a solid wall a foot or so back instead. He caught himself before he tripped over… something blocking the way. He was not going to be able to see the damage without a light source.

Of course, Leonardo the boy scout was quite prepared for the excursion. A light shined past Donatello over his shoulder and he saw the first flash of the destruction. He followed the beam as Leonardo showed him the chaos. Nothing seemed to be in its intended spot. Monitors gracelessly occupied the floor with innards and hazardous glass littering the scene. Chemicals mixed, stained, and corroded wherever they spilled. Metal was overturned and wood splintered. He felt cold and confused. And he was fuming. But speechless. He just gaped at the scene before him, only pulled out of his trance by the continuing of his brothers' previous argument.

"Stop lookin' at me like that! I didn't do anythin!'" Raphael defended himself from Leonardo's gaze. His anger was resurfacing with a vengeance.

"I know you did." Leonardo stated. "I saw you."

"You didn't see shit, Leo." Raphael spit out immediately at the accusation. His eyes immediately caught Donatello's when his brother turned towards the argument. Anger dispersed for a moment. "Honest, I wouldn't wreck your lab." Raphael's voice changed. And Donatello believed him. But he believed Leonardo, too.

And so he looked at his other brother, awaiting more information. Still, he said nothing. He was terrified of what he would say if he opened his mouth. He just wanted an explanation. Something logical. Or at least someone he could blame. The thought caused anger to spike behind his features temporarily.

"Raph was in your laboratory when I came out this morning." Leonardo admitted. He straightened and looked to Raphael for the predictable response.

"That's how I found it, ya prick." Raphael stepped towards his brother in a threatening manner. Leonardo, of course, showed no signs of intimidation. "You prob'ly did this ta get Donnie outa his lab more!" Raphael returned the charge with a less rational approach.

"Dude!" All three of the brothers turned to the newest member of the family argument. "What the shell happened?" Michelangelo was browsing at the row of glass and wires. "You blow something up, Donnie?" His smile quickly wiped off his face when he saw the situation was less than amusing.

"Raph was in your laboratory when I came out this morning." Leonardo repeated same tone as before.

"Yeah, I ain't denyin' that, fearless. 'Course maybe I was makin' sure Donnie hadn't blasted 'imself to a million pieces!" Raphael gestured a hand towards Donatello. His head shot back to Donatello when he felt it batted away. Raphael's eyes flashed for a moment but he lowered his arm without comment.

"Jeez, Raph." Michelangelo stepped where he could see the destruction in the small light offered from the main room. "What'd the defenseless mechanicals do to deserve your wrath?" He tilted his head up to meet Raphael's turning scowl.

Raphael was surrounded. His features were beginning to shake. So far, he was actually behaving, trying to explain his innocence without choking the opposition. Donatello eyed the scene. When Michelangelo tromped up, Raphael's last path to storm away was blocked. This would not end well.

And Donatello felt himself pulled to defend the hothead. Three on one was just not fair odds in his book. He took a step up to join his brother, rather than being part of the triangle surrounding Raphael in an accusing manner. He lightly brushed against him in the process. The safest way he could think to show a deeper form of support. Maybe something more. "Was the door open or closed, Leo?" Donatello changed the target of the group stare down.

"What do you mean?" Leonardo crossed his arms, a sheer sign that he was going into defensive mode.

"When you found Raph, I am assuming the door was open?" Donatello hated explaining more than he thought he had to. After years of doing so, one would think he would grow used to it. They would be wrong.

"Yes." Leonardo gave a definite answer. Like he always did.

"That's right, the lab's soundproof. Eat that, ya dick." Raphael jumped at the opportunity.

"Mikey, when did you go to bed last night?" Donatello asked through gritted teeth. He refused to believe Raphael had anything to do with the destruction. He knew him… differently than the others. He just was not capable.

Michelangelo immediately put his hands as if defending from a physical attack. "No way!" He shook his head. "Don't drag me into this!" Michelangelo took a step back as two of the three pairs of eyes laid siege on his features.

"Michelangelo, just answer the question." Leonardo added, though his eyes were still fixated on Raphael. Leonardo already knew the answer.

"I dunno. Like eleven? After I totally put down an entire rebel fle.."

"Bull shit, Mikey." Raphael towered over the youngest now. "Fes up, or I'll beat it outa ya." Raphael cracked his knuckles and glowered at the gulping turtle.

"Hey now, come on. How do you know Donatello didn't destroy his own lab?" Michelangelo nervously smiled and took another step back. "He probably wired a microwave wrong and set it to 'detonate.'" Michelangelo's attempts to lighten the situation were failing miserably as Donatello did not seem the last bit happy about his accusations, fake, or not.

Donatello blinked and looked behind him. Maybe something other than his brothers did cause the mess, though. Michelangelo had a decent point. Leonardo avoided technology to the best of his ability, Michelangelo just was not the violent type, and Raphael would never hurt him like this. It was just not possible.

He had such a headache. He just wanted to go back to sleep and hope this was all a droll nightmare. He rubbed his head and sighed. He was getting used to rebuilding his laboratory every other day thanks to their dangerous existence anyway. Michelangelo's shrill voice becoming higher and higher as Raphael continued his assault definitely was not helping matters. At all. Such a headache.

"…or maybe Mrs. Peacock here did in the laboratory. Now we just gotta find the murder weapon." Michelangelo's defense. He beamed a smile at Leonardo, begging for support. Wacky thing to do, when, not only he was referring to Leonardo as a female board game character, he was also questioning his innocence. "So was it the candlestick or the lead pipe?"

Leonardo seemed neither amused nor bothered by the comments. A brick wall for Michelangelo, so more nervous ramblings and bizarre scene ideas flowed.

Raphael's temper was shooting upwards and Michelangelo was backtracking. In this situation, it was best for Michelangelo to keep up the jokes and eventually Raphael would get so steamed, he just sped off. But Raphael seemed to be taking this more personally. Or maybe that was just hopeful thinking on Donatello's part.

They were further away now; their little dance dragging them away from Donatello and Leonardo. Michelangelo back peddling but Raphael taking the newly unoccupied space between them. Nothing new; two distracted brothers that were not going to help with the clean up anytime soon.

"Stop it, Raph." Leonardo commanded from Donatello's side. Donatello's shoulders sagged as he thought about the task before him. Now first, he had to get to that broken bulb, so that he could actually see the ruins of his favorite room. This was so not what he wanted to do this morning. He turned towards his lab, holding out his hand to Leonardo. As expected, the flashlight was placed in his palm.

Illuminating the ground, he carefully avoided stabbing his flesh with the debris. Shouts outside the door were getting louder. He really wanted to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. "A little help would be greatly appreciated guys." He urged them to forget their fight and start peeling away the damage.

He looked over his shoulder at the lack of a response, and saw Leonardo jumping towards the commotion and out of site. Shouts and the rambunctious sounds of a fight soon followed. _For crying out loud…_Donatello fully turned to make his way back to the situation. He moved towards the door, or at least that was the idea. But the mystery of the missing shelf had other ideas. He stepped right through the cheap cardboard back of the thing, and his foot refused to dislodge. "Come on guys. Stop fighting!" Donatello shouted at the light, but his plea fell on deaf ears. He wrestled with the contraption annoyingly. _Today kind of sucked_.

The voices of all three of his brothers meddled together, but one distinct cry caught his attention. His baby brother yelled out the hothead's name, just as Donatello pulled from his ensnare. Stumbling into the light, his eyes readjusted to three turtles in close proximity, one slumped over another. Purple was not the only one to rush to the scene, as his father joined from the opposite direction, finally aware of the commotion.

Splinter reacted to what he saw first, pulling on the shoulders of the one hunched over. Over the one on the floor. Over Michelangelo.

"Leonardo…" The old rat paused when he saw the red draining, dripping onto the youngest. Who looked mortified.

Leonardo shrugged Splinter's feeble grip away from him. Donatello just stood, taking in the scene. His eyes traced each and every face, but stopped at Raphael's, who seemed emotionless. Splinter stepped away. The silence was cut in half by the clanking of metal next to Raphael's foot. His sai. He dropped it. The blood splattered onto the ground from the sharp blades.

And another bloody sai landed next to it; falling from Michelangelo's grip.

Donatello took two steps forward. Leonardo stood on his own, balancing a hand on the wall well above Michelangelo's head. His free hand slowly made its way to his right shoulder, the source of the crimson.

Another step. He beat down the desire to scream "what happened?!" It was fairly obvious. Worry overrode anger, though. This was supposed to be a normal day, why does everyone keep screwing it up?

Last step before he reached his destination. "Leo…" Donatello placed his hand on his brother's opposite shoulder. He was burning up, at least for a turtle. For a moment he felt as though he was touching Raphael instead.

"Don't touch me." Leonardo snapped and Donatello pulled his hand back.

Raphael was uncharacteristically silent. Michelangelo was starting to shake his head to fight back his tears. He cried over spilled milk, so naturally spilled blood was going to cause an overflow.

"Don't touch me." Leonardo retrieved his hand from the wall. He stood on his own now. He turned around to face the crowd. His hand still guarded his wound. His eyes shift to Raphael and narrowed. "Is this what you wanted?"

Raphael's plain features immediately shifted to anger. Leonardo had that talent. "son of a…?" He intelligently responded. He seemed out of it; too flustered to talk.

"Raphael!" Splinter finally stepped in between Leonardo and Raphael, as if guarding his injured son. "You brandished your weapons against your own brother?" Splinter questioned.

Raphael just took a step back and rubbed his head as if his hand would absorb the heat so that he could think correctly. Donatello just watched the scene unfold, unable to do anything except process the next steps for when Leonardo finally let him patch that wound. That was priority, of course, even over Raphael's strange behavior.

"I didn't. I mean I wouldn't … It ain't what it looks like, Sensei!" He received no solid sympathy and he heavily growled. Raphael gritted his teeth and kept up the staring contest with Leonardo.

Donatello thought of trying to ease the situation, but nothing came. He was not even a witness. What could he say in the hothead's defense? … Should he even defend him? His eyes shifted face to face. Stern Leonardo. A Raphael about to blow. A heart broken Splinter.

And a smiling Michelangelo.

Michelangelo was not smiling. Not anymore. He stared at his brother; their eyes had met and he looked solemn. As he should have the entire time. But he was smiling, Donatello was sure of it. He did not imagine that…or maybe he did.

Thoughts were interrupted when Raphael shoved Leonardo, and the ninja took steps back to regain his balance. He avoided stepping on Michelangelo, who still occupied the ground next to the wall. "Stop fuckin' with me, Leo!" Raphael shouted and took a step towards his two brothers.

"Raph!" Don heard his voice say in unison with Michelangelo. Leonardo was injured. The Raphael he knew would know better.

"Enough!" Splinter's walking stick cut between Raphael and his target. "Raphael! Go!" He ushered his thin paw towards his private chamber.

Raphael hesitated, and glanced towards the exit instead, but the walking stick slapped him against the arm in protest. Still playing eye games with Leonardo, Raphael stepped away, towards Splinter's door, not losing eye contact until it was impossible to walk forward and maintain the contest at the same time.

Raphael was dying to say something, and Donatello knew it. The hothead could retain from speaking, but it was obvious something teetered on the tip of his tongue.

"Donatello." Splinter commanded, though much lighter than he had been speaking with his brother.

Donatello stepped up, and Leonardo finally had all of his attention when Splinter's wooden door slid shut with a bang. At least it did not break. Like Raphael needed more salt on his sore attitude. He looked to his master and nodded, a nonverbal response to his master's silent request. Leonardo needed treatment.

"It's… not that bad." Leonardo avoided Donatello's inquisitive touch. Leonardo: The worst patient on the planet. The turtle could be missing that arm, and he would say the same exact thing. He was still fuming; Donatello could feel the heat radiating. Raphael really got to him.

Raphael stabbed him. Well the wound was shallow, but still. _You'd be pissed too, Genius._ Donatello looked to the ground. "There is an extra kit in the kitchen." Donatello felt defeated all of the sudden. "Please cooperate with me, Leo." Donatello shot him a desperate look. The sooner Leonardo was patched, the sooner he could get to the bottom of this mess.

Leonardo's expressions finally softened and he offered his brother a slight nod. He looked to his master and exhaled as if for the first time since the incident. Then he looked to Splinter's door and shook his head, before stepping towards the kitchen to lead the way.

Donatello lowered his attention to Michelangelo, who was no longer blocked into the wall by his blue-clad brother. His eyes were wide and full of tears just waiting to slide down his beak. He put out his hand to help his little brother up, but instead he was pulled down to meet a distressed gaze. He heard Leonardo stop. Splinter moved in closer.

Donatello's beak almost touched his baby brothers, and it was a bit strange. He tried to pull back, where he would not be so close, but a tug on his bandanas brought his head further down, to where he could distinctly here Michelangelo mumbling.

Three times, like Michelangelo was trying to convince himself more than Donatello. With wide eyes, Donatello met his brother's stare again, and the majority of him wanted to comfort his younger brother, but a haunting, angry voice in his head commanded him to do otherwise.

Not that he had the chance to discover what the other plans were, as Splinter pulled him away seconds later and ushered him towards his awaiting injured brother.

Slightly dazed, Donatello felt himself walking, but he didn't feel his feet hitting the concrete. He got lost in the patterns on Leonardo's shell in the small distance between the corridor to the lab and the kitchen.

In his head, he listened to his innocent, baby brother repeating the same phrase over and over again.

"He made me do it."

* * *

boo!


	3. Chapter 3

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Three

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Tonight is the night. Tonight they will take him. He just knows it. He wearily hangs from a rafter, eyeing the scene. The lair is upside down. Another one of their nasty tricks.

Were these creatures once his brothers? No. Perhaps the flesh, but on the inside something different entirely.

Maybe a very long time ago. Maybe.

His real family rests without peace, skinned in some shallow ditch along the sewers in a garbage pile. Crows pick out their innards and maggots crawl through where blood used to run.

They are dead. And these ghouls mean nothing to him.

Their methods are beyond cruel. Disgusting. He has seen it all before. Each tries their best to appear innocent, but he knows better. He knows the real them, the repulsive monsters hiding under green putrid skin.

How long before the flesh rots to reveal the monsters wearing the familiar faces to get to him? To get to _him_. Too soon. Never.

And they know he knows. And are trying to stop him from stopping them.

_Click_. There is a flash and his vision disappears. Well no, he can still see, only it is overwhelming light, not a sea of darkness.

Blind. But they could see. Or smell. Or taste. Whatever sense they use.

So uncomfortable. His skin feels prickly. And then it starts to itch.

He presses his teeth together until his jaw stings in protest. His skin burns to be touched. Soothed. But that is their game. And so he resists. He has to be strong. If he falls, he cannot protect him.

Not an option.

It is getting very hot. There is a chance his skin is melting away. Too soon to tell. But he can not remain suspended any longer. And so he risks everything to fall.

His world spins. And he hits the ceiling. Nausea catches him and he steadies himself to the best of his ability. So bright. His eyes hurt, even through shut lids.

He rubs his arms. Feels the skin peeling off between his fingers. But it feels so good. The greatest sensation he has ever experienced.

The heat disperses. It is dark again. Leans against the roof and tears away at his flesh, unable to resist any longer. So satisfying.

He stops his frantic itching in a panic. Another trick. Another ploy to put him off guard. He stands. And falls to the real floor with a thud.

A voice. One is coming. Danger. Do something.

He picks up something close to him. Something big. And aims it for the light source that burned his flesh. That brought him such pleasure. Their source of power?

Their source of power.

It crashes loudly. No time to hesitate. They all will notice. Must destroy them all. Then he will make through the night. He was sure of it.

Crash. Crunch. Clang. Crack. Cut. Shhheerrrmmm…

White noise disperses. For the first time in his life, there is total silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Four

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

"Ow. Ow!" Michelangelo's voice piped up as he ungracefully walked through the living room. It was dark and he was too tired to see where he was going. "OW!" He instinctively bounced on one foot, cradling the other. Whatever he just kicked the hell out of what NOT supposed to be there.

"Role Call." The familiar voice of the eldest brother filled the silent gaps between Michelangelo's cries.

"Yeah." Michelangelo said aloud, first in line to answer.

"Present." A tired, yawning Donatello sounded off somewhere to his left. Michelangelo was actually surprised the turtle may have been sleeping.

"Whateva." Michelangelo cringed hearing Raphael's voice. He just wanted today to go away.

"What has happened?" Last but not least, his Master joined the second bizarre event of the day…night. It still was the same day, right? Michelangelo had not caught the time before leaving his room after the crash. _Well duh. Power outage. _

Why did it have to be so dark? He never liked the dark. This was beyond dark, though. No tiny green lights on the televisions. No yellow from the bathroom and walkway safety lights. He did not even know those could turn off. No blue from the fridge. Complete darkness. He shivered involuntarily. He really. Hated. The dark.

Closer to him this time, he heard an annoyed, long sigh. "It's a blackout?" Donatello offered the first suggestion. The voice was traveling towards his direction.

Michelangelo listened as silent footsteps crunched against glass. Yeah, that about changed Donatello's idea about the blackout. Michelangelo winced again at Donatello's surprised yelp. It seemed so loud without the usual background noises.

"Okay. This is beyond creepy." Michelangelo offered the silence. There was movement to his left. Donatello was bracing himself on something. He bet that hurt. It certainly had not sounded pretty.

His cloudy memory finally kicked into full action from the haze and excitement of something happening, and forced him to remember the earlier part of the day. He felt the sudden urge to just stop talking and hide. No one would find him.

His talk with Master Splinter helped. They always take extra care of the baby, it seemed. Leonardo was not badly injured. Just…

…

A bright light suddenly attacked his face, and he turned away, putting his arms up to protect himself. "Ugh." Michelangelo spit out without an ounce of charisma. "Hey!"

"Get over it." The light flashed up, and illuminated the bottom portion of Raphael's face, just like they were telling ghost stories around a camp fire or something. The light shifted to survey the room, and stopped on the crate that used to serve as a table in front of the couch. Now, it functioned as a crunched wooden shape holding most of the remains of the main lighting system for the living area.

Each brother let out a sign of surprise. Raphael slowly lifted the light higher, to reveal the empty space where their entertainment center used to be. And a large pile of televisions now occupying the floor around it. "Damn." Raphael added louder than exclamations of the others.

"Check for intruders!" Leonardo commanded. The light clicked off and five ninjas ceased to be heard.

Michelangelo lost track of time, mostly from boredom, after he established on his own no one was actually in their lair. Rather, if something was, it's prime time for a surprise attack was long overdue. Whatever busted his favorite room was long gone, and he had to admit he was slightly annoyed something was not going to suffer to breaking _his precious. _

Okay, he would be the first to admit channeling Gollum was a little creepy, but still. The dark must have been getting to him. So after about fifteen minutes of pursuing imaginary villains and finding nothing, he found himself a nice wall corner and leaned into it. He slid down, wrapped his arms around his knees, and proceeded to wait until the household genius fixed the lights.

Donatello's voice slashed through the darkness. He seemed stressed. "Guys. This door does not open easy without electricity." He referred to their main entrance. "We would have heard it scraping." Donatello strained with the "scraping" as he had started yanking on the door. Oh, it fought, and slightly opened with a high pitch hydraulic noise tearing at the silence. Point made, it slammed shut again when he let go.

"The elevator then?" Michelangelo responded. He had no idea if the others were there to contribute and he would hate to leave Donatello hanging.

After a few minutes, quiet grew unbearable again. He thought about what Leonardo was doing. Always the brave one. He was not afraid of the dark. Fearless. Yeah. That was so not Michelangelo's style. He whined a little.

"It's okay, Mikey." Michelangelo jumped out of his shell. At least he was pretty sure he did. Never mind it being attached to his spine.

Leonardo's voice whispered from an inch in front of his face, he would bet his comic collection on it. "Gaahh!" Michelangelo swatted out in front of him from reflex, but hit nothing. "Don't do that, Leo!"

There was a quiet laugh a few feet away now. What a bastard.

Okay Leonardo was not a bastard, Michelangelo had to admit. He had a father and everything. He was just acting like one for a very short amount of time.

Those moments were rare. Maybe he wished they would happen more often. Just maybe Raphael could be the butt of the joke and not him. Yeah, that would be great.

_Raphael_.Michelangelo sunk against the wall again.

"This thing is not going to open." Donatello stated a few minutes later. He could only guess in reference to the elevator. "But you can not take the crystal from this side." Everyone present could hear the inquisitive tone in his voice. He was already on the case.

Michelangelo pulled from the wall and crept around the living area, avoiding where Raphael illuminated the damage earlier. Sitting down in the dark was making his imagination go wild. Maybe a good wander would help him out.

Now all ninjas had crazy sensory skills. It just came with the gig. He felt a close by presence and figured Leonardo was trying to scare him again. Apparently today he was being a double bastard.

So Michelangelo turned and cut through the air with his hand. He hit nothing. Okay. At least no one saw that. But there it was again, to his side: a warm sensation on that side of his body to alert him to someone's presence. Not to mention his battle nexus champion senses were tingling. He reached out again, slower this time. If Michelangelo knew anything, though, it was horror movies. And no matter how many times he reached into the darkness, he would never touch his predator.

He pictured sockets missing eyes and sharp claws barely missing his flesh. Of course it had sharper than normal claws to tear through their thicker than human skin. Duh.

A snarling but silent as death snout dripping any kind of fluid was just bonus.

"Not funny…" He whispered quietly. The last thing he needed was everyone to know he was being a coward. One brother, he could deal with.

He darted his hand in that empty space where he knew something other than air resided, but caught nothing. Great. His eyes darted uselessly around in the darkness. He resisted the urge to call out for a brother. This was nothing. His overactive imagination. The dark.

It was behind him now. Someone breathed on his neck. Hot and clammy. And extremely disturbing. He jumped immediately and turned around, waving both hands in front of him, but he made no contact with anything. His heart sounded off in his ears and his breath quickened.

"You're not scaring me." Michelangelo lied.

A crash from the kitchen caught his attention. Thanks to the moment's previous experience, he jumped at least two feet higher than he would have on a normal basis. He drew his nunchukus, just in case. Knowing every inch of their lair made running in the dark a lot easier. "Who's there?" Michelangelo asked the darkness.

"Just me." Leonardo's voice.

"You okay?" Michelangelo inquired. He put his weapons away. "Did Leo totally trip up in the dark?" Prior troubles with the dark were put on the back burner. Because making fun always took precedence.

"No." His voice was distant but defensive. Michelangelo so totally caught him red handed.

"You so did!" Michelangelo moved forward with lowered hands, trying to make a friendly motion to help his brother up as he made fun of the perfectionist. It was the least he could do.

"I should so get my camera to commemorate the occasion." Michelangelo passed the table.

"You really shouldn't." Leonardo responded.

Michelangelo found Leonardo sooner than expected, as he met him plastron to plastron, rather than the latter being sprung out on the floor like he pictured.

Michelangelo's hand awkwardly rested against his brother's thigh, and his attempt to bring it back failed miserably as it moved up afore mentioned leg rather than retracting to his side. It was only a slight gesture but he blushed. _Maybe dark was not so bad after all. … Well that was an odd thought._

"You really shouldn't." Leonardo's hand brushed against Michelangelo's arm and then pulled away as if the turtle would burn him.

Half a second later a light came around the corner. Donatello had gotten himself a flashlight. "None of this makes any sense." Donatello immediately started having found most of his intended audience.

"Raphael could not even budge the elevator and the door clearly has not opened." Donatello went on. "Not only are most of the lights shattered, the power cords are cut. This is ridiculous!" Somehow, despite it being some ungodly hour in the early morning, Donatello had the energy to rant thanks to his nerdity.

"Then whoever did this is still in here." Leonardo's eyes shifted immediately in the possibility of a threat.

"Or whateva did it." A voice shot from around the corner Donatello had just rounded. Brother number four had joined the conversation.

"It is more complicated than that." Donatello lowered his voice. "It's… well… whoever … or whatever … cut the power had to have a decent understanding of the lair." He trailed off a bit and turned his head to the side, not looking at anyone. "I would have to guess more than just familiarity. Perhaps intimate."

"What're ya sayin, Donnie?" Raphael shouted over Donatello's shoulder.

Michelangelo knew exactly what he was saying. He was pretty sure Raphael knew, too.

"I am saying that only a very select group of people and mutants know how to find the power source in our home. And I am saying that as it was sabotaged directly at said source, and no one has exited the lair…" He trailed off again.

"My sons." Splinter finally joined the conversation, walking past Donatello and into the light of his flashlight.

Splinter hesitated. That was rare. Down right unique. Michelangelo gulped at the realization. "My sons, we are the only living beings here."

Splinter had that awesome nose. He knew what he was talking about. Michelangelo kind of wished that he did not, so that what was going to be said next was not such a certainty.

"So we are the only ones here. And the only ones that have been here." Leonardo concluded.

"That're alive. Maybe some crazy robot gizmos knocked through the wall someplace. It ain't like we can see." Raphael added his two cents.

No one had anything to say to that.

Leonardo turned momentarily to a drawer. Michelangelo watched as he pulled out a stash of candles. A moment later, a flashlight and a candle glowed. The leader stuck out his lit candle to the corner where Raphael had finally somewhat joined the party. "Feel free to check the walls for these mystery machines."

Raphael growled but did not respond. Probably something to do with the totally harsh look Master Splinter threw him. You do not have to see Master Splinter to know when he was giving you _that_ look. He just gritted his teeth and ducked back behind his corner, where he leaned against the wall.

The candle light dancing over Donatello's features made Michelangelo's skin crawl. It almost looked like he was staring through Leonardo. Like he was ready to bite his head off and feed him to starved Chihuahuas. It must have been an illusion of the low light, because Donatello would never do that.

So. One of them finally snapped. He always knew it was going to be Raphael. He had been calling him a psycho for years. Michelangelo held his tongue, though. Surely he was not seriously crazy.

Right?

Leonardo slowly passed out the supply of candles and matches to each of his brothers, minus Raphael. Donatello collected a double helping rather than deal with the drama the simple gesture could produce.

Go figure the two oldest were not getting along. Michelangelo pushed the thought away. _It'll go away. It always does…_

Master Splinter was lost in thought. Michelangelo recognized that stare. Actually, now that he realized it, his Sensei was staring at _him_. How weird was that?

It was an uncomfortable few minutes as each waited for further instruction. Raphael finally lost patience and heavily stepped away from the scene.

"Raphael." Splinter finally spoke. His son stopped dead in his tracks. "Please, stay with your brothers."

"Masta, it ain't wanna us. There's gotta be somethin' in here." Raphael reasoned.

"No one is to be alone." Their sensei's voice was neutral, as always. "Stay with one another until these … strange occurrences are explained." He eyed each son.

Raphael sighed his disapproval but did not nag the issue further. "Leonardo, Raphael. Check the upstairs once more before…"

"Michelangelo and I will check the upstairs." Leonardo did not suggest this second plan to his master. He immediately stepped off from the crowd. He displayed little tact towards Raphael's feelings; obviously he was still pissy.

The shadow that had been Raphael disappeared behind the wall again.

Guilt swam in Michelangelo's features. He felt like a total douche bag. But he would not exactly want to be alone with Raphael right now, either.

Splinter looked to Donatello. He was relaying a message, but Michelangelo just did not understand the silent language of eye talking. Donatello just tilted his head at the old rat and shrugged.

Michelangelo wished he knew that the hell that meant. Words were supposed to be communicated with words. Or on paper. With words. As long as it was in big enough print. Preferably with pictures. It helped.

"Mikey." Leonardo sounded further away. A candle in the distance lit up and he was at the bottom of the staircase.

"Hurry up, or I'll leave you to the dark."


	5. Chapter 5

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Five

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Such a good boy.

No one will hurt him now. He is safe. In his care. There is not a thing the world can do to him now that he found him.

He stands over him. So close. But not too close. No need to disturb him. So calm. Precious.

When he is sleeping.

He resists the urge to caress his face, so perfect in the fading candlelight.

They have not tainted him yet. He is still clean. He still does not know what happened to their family. He never wants him to know. It is just better that way.

He can live without picturing his brothers and father being skinned alive and worn to confuse the world.

He can live without seeing their still twitching bodies pushed away. Discarded without a care by beings not of this Earth.

The bodies decaying. Decomposing. Disintegrating. And being devoured by worms and fungus.

He can live without seeing the same thing he sees when he closes his eyes.

He bends low over the sleeping turtle. He twists his ear to where he can hear him breathing clearly. Still alive. Of course he is still alive.

Because he is here. To protect him.

Breath feels good. He runs his thumb across the sleeper's brow. He twitches. Another sign of life. Refreshing in ways he will never know.

He stares at him for some time. Hours go by. Maybe days. No one will disturb him while he is there. They know he can defeat them. Now that he finally is here.

He feels so cold. His body wants nothing more than to absorb the one in front of him and all of his warm blankets. To pull him close and never let go. To protect him. To keep him.

Eyes concentrate on the peaceful dreamer. Follow the shadow along the pillow to the turtle's neck. Skin looks so delicate.

One swipe of a dagger and the turtle would never wake up. Never sleep again.

Never feel pain.

The candle flickers. It approves. The light is trying to convince him to do this. To slit his brother's throat in one quick motion.

Allow him to serenely dream forever.

He will like that.

It can be his gift. Take on the bourdon to ensure his brother's eternal happiness.

He is not capable of a greater show of affection.

Candle flickers. It gleams on shiny metal drawn. He scrutinizes the blade. Tilts it lovingly to catch the light at its best angle.

So beautiful.

Room spins. The candle blows out. He drops the knife. More trickery. More deception. It clangs against the floor. He hears it slide away. There goes his chance. His chance to prove just how much he loves his brother.

He is so cold, he shivers. The innocent one felt so warm. So comforting. Now, he can only feel him in the dark. His hand travels down his face and circles his large thumb tenderly on the side of his brother's neck. He shifts, but otherwise does not notice.

He wishes he would notice.

He can feel the life flowing through him. It feels strange, the temptation to take him away from all of this. Send him someplace safe. Make sure he does not suffer.

He has a decision to make.

And he makes this decision.

* * *

...i creeped myself out with this one.


	6. Chapter 6

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Six

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Michelangelo screamed.

They all could identify that girlish shriek anywhere. Raphael abruptly tumbled out of his blankets. Where was he? What the hell was going on?

"Raph?" Donatello's voice from across the room, barely awake. Oh yeah, that explained the crick in his neck. He was on genius's floor.

"I'm up." His response was short and harsh. Much like everything else he had to say that night. Or morning. Or afternoon. Whatever it was now.

Raphael hit the door before a flashlight clicked the scene into perspective. Both were gearless. Raphael instinctively reached to where his belt and weapons were in his room, but grunted and pulled at the door a moment later.

Master Splinter had his weapons. He had almost forgotten.

Donatello followed him loyally with the light and a few seconds later, they were at door number two. Without much of a warning, Raphael barged in, with a curious Donatello behind him.

Leonardo was standing close by Michelangelo's bed, lit candle in hand. He looked up as his other two brothers entered. There being no obvious threat, he looked back down to a sheepish looking Michelangelo.

"Hi guys." Michelangelo nervously greeted. He had his blanket pulled up to his chest and his back against the wall behind his bed.

"Everything okay, Mikey?" Donatello questioned from Raphael's side. Raphael eyed the room for anything suspicious. There was nothing out of the ordinary though, minus Leonardo's pile of blankets on the opposite wall. A fort of comic books seemed to protect him. Or at least Michelangelo had the decency to make a little space for his older brother.

"Yeah." Michelangelo grinned and rubbed his head. "…Nightmare." He followed up with as an explanation.

Raphael rolled his eyes. "I'm goin' back ta bed." He callously added before turning towards the door. As he was walking in darkness once he left the room, it was clear Donatello had not followed him.

There were enough people worrying about the baby.

Raphael did not have far to go. His stride was delayed though, having nothing to look forward to once he reached his destination.

He stopped abruptly and turned to the majority of the room, just at the base of the staircase. Though swamped in unending darkness, he knew he was not alone.

He knew he was being watched.

He knew he was not trusted.

Determined to ignore the feeling, he trekked up the stairs and did not look behind him. Out of reflex, he opened his own bedroom door but he passed it up when his master's rules repeated on cue in his head.

So he slipped back into Donatello's room and felt with his foot for his designated place on the floor. This blew. He hated sleeping on the floor.

He could deal with some quiet time anyway. Actually he had been offered plenty of solitude, as none of his brothers seemed too eager to talk to him. Not that he minded. There was nothing to talk about.

Everyone but Raphael pitched in earlier to clean up the mess in Donatello's laboratory. Raphael had not been acting rude, though. He was being punished. Confinement was the ultimate sentence for the turtle. Not being able to help one of his brothers was just icing on that malicious cake.

Raphael liked being alone but possessing the knowledge that he could venture out at any time he pleased, rather than at the mercy of his master.

This simply drove him crazy.

Something strange was going on, but he knew his brothers could not be at fault. He just saw things wrong. Maybe. Okay, no he did not. And, of course, they all seemed to think he was the one causing all the ruckus. Which he was not. He would know if he was going loony. He was sharp as a razor.

A flicker of light shined under a door, and then another. Finally, the knob slowly turned and the flashlight clicked off. Donatello's soft footsteps tiptoed towards the corner to his bed. The pattern hesitated a moment, and Raphael looked over. Well, he could not see anything, but old habits die hard.

The steps crept towards him much slower than they had when destined for the bed. Maybe if he just pretended to be asleep, Donatello would not bother him.

"Are you still awake?" His voice was hushed. Donatello was closer than he thought, but still kept his distance. Maybe he was scared of him.

Raphael just grunted in response. It was not in him to lie, but he was not interested in giving the green light for a conversation at the moment, either.

"Can you talk with me, Raph?" Donatello's voice was lower. Apparently he was getting comfortable. Damn it all to hell.

"Whatd'ya want?" Raphael shot over his shoulder. He crunched up his pillow a few times, trying to make it more supportive. A spike of guilt struck in the stomach upon hearing his voice's harshness. It was one thing to be a dick to Leonardo or Michelangelo. It was quite another when dealing with the gentle Donatello.

"Can you tell me what is happening?" He asked. Such a vague question. On purpose, most likely.

Raphael sighed. "No freakin' clue." He quickly answered.

"Are you sure…?" Donatello pushed back, more quietly than the first time he asked.

"Yeah." Raphael pulled his blanket to cover his shoulder. His feet were suddenly without shelter and he grew even more annoyed. Stupid blankets. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence, waiting for Donatello to give up. Yeah, fat chance.

There was no contest. Raphael definitely lost patience before Donatello was willing to surrender. "Look. I dun know what's happenin' but I ain't goin' crazy. So stop whateva psycho jumble crap you got planned an' go ta bed." Raphael angrily pulled at his blankets. His feet uncovered again. And his pillow was mushy and useless. _Damn it._

Raphael was not exactly quiet about his frustration. "You can stay in my bed." The meek turtle quietly offered. "I'm … not really tired."

"No." Stubborn as always. He lowered a wall or two of defense, now that Donatello handed him a peace offering, though. Guess he thought he was making him angry and not the stupid floor.

"Tell me what happened earlier, Raph." Then again, maybe not.

Raphael turned to his other side, where, had there had been a scrap of light, he would have seen Donatello's eyes reflecting back. Much to his dismay, this side was no more comfortable than the other. "Nothin' happened, Donnie. Drop it."

Raphael was no snitch. Donatello should have known this. Asking these questions was pointless. And interrupting his much longed for sleep. Well, whether or not he wanted sleep, he had to silently admit he was not tired. At all. He hated hearing one of them scream. And his mind wanted to concentrate on other things rather than serene dreams.

Like Donatello's nervous swallow every so often. Or how Raphael could practically hear the gears grinding away in that enormous brain of his as he thought of ways to break through his defense. Yeah. That was not going to happen.

"Did you…" Donatello started and stopped. More awkward silence. Donatello cleared his throat. "I mean. Do you know who?"

More stupid vague questions that made no sense. _Good show, genius_. "Who what, Donnie?" Raphael sounded more annoyed than he was. He kind of liked having an opportunity to talk to Donatello. He just wished the circumstances were different.

"Did he wreck my lab, too?"

"Dun know."

"You do." Donatello said with more force than anything else he had mentioned. "And you are protecting him." There was something resentful in Donatello's voice that did not go by unnoticed.

"I'm goin' ta bed." Raphael shifted in between his blankets again. He beat up his pillow again until it submitted to a likeable position.

"Raph…" Raphael pinched his eyes closed. This conversation was going to end.

"Raphael." Don was more direct. Raphael maintained his silence.

Donatello's feet slid across the floor, but he did not get up. He just changed his posture. "I'm telling Master Splinter the truth."

Raphael sighed. "And what _is_ tha truth, Don?" He did not sound the least bit amused.

"Mikey hurt Leo. Not you." Donatello said quietly. He did not like admitting it himself, but his little brother had confessed. In a way.

"That ain't what happened." Raphael faced the darkness where Donatello hid. "Mikey didn't do anythin."

"That's not what he told me." Donatello offered back. His facts were limited. It's all he had.

"Leave Mikey out. This shit is between me an' Leo." Raphael spit back, a little louder than before.

"You shouldn't be blamed for this, Raph…" Donatello moved again.

"Where you goin?" Raphael heard Donatello's legs crack when he stood. "Sit back down."

"I know you think you are protecting him, Raphael." His voice was no further away. He was still there at least. "But someone has to protect you, too." Feet started for the door.

"Wait a minute, Donnie." Raphael's voice changed from stubbornness to defensive.

Donatello said nothing. Just headed for the exit. So Raphael swung out his leg. Words were never his thing, anyway.

Donatello thudded next to him and Raphael moved out from under his tangling blankets. He reached out, found one arm and tugged his brother in front of him. His second arm caught the other.

"Raph!" Donatello sounded quite annoyed. He never liked having his objectives interrupted.

"Listen up, Donnie." Raphael leaned in. Close. "This ain't none of your business, got it?" He squeezed Donatello's arms harder than he meant to. "Just lemme handle it, okay?" His voice was rough and commanding.

"I… can't do that." Donatello's voice was weaker.

"Damn it, Donnie!" Raphael pulled him closer. If he could see, he would be directly looking down at him. And sad eyes would be staring back up. He could feel them anyway, so lack of vision did not matter. He wanted to blurt out the truth. Tell Donatello what has plagued his thoughts all day.

"Let me help you, Raph." Donatello did not raise his voice to meet Raphael's.

"Mikey didn't do anything. Just believe me." Raphael growled.

"Tell me who did." Donatello's voice was calming. _Freaky mind game shit._

Raphael only growled in response. Donatello would not believe him. He knew this, but he did not want to see the proof. He was content with the off chance that Donatello would. Why shatter that hope.

"Raphael, talk to me. Please." Donatello sounded a bit agitated that time.

Raphael was decent at the not talking part of keeping things to himself, but other features usually failed to hold it in. Actually, that was a blatant lie. Raphael could rarely hold his tongue. He kept secrets, though. He did what it took to protect others. So, for the moment, he kept his mouth shut. He might burst from the pressure, but that was preferred over the second option. Raphael refused to talk, so he just showed his frustration through his grip on his brother's arms.

"Raphie…" Raphael froze. He loosened his hands immediately. That tone of voice. That name. Reserved for when his brother was scared. When he needed Raphael to come running and intimidate away whatever terror tormented him.

No, not even Donatello would believe him. Especially now. _Ya hurt 'em, ya fucktard._ He cursed himself. Raphael innately wrapped his arms around his younger brother, wanting to protect him from whatever caused him pain. Ironically, that had been him. _Moron. Why the hell did he get so close?_

Of course Raphael did not apologize. 'Sorry' was not in his vocabulary. He calmed immediately, though. He was no longer angry. Just wanted to show Donatello he was remorseful. Could not bite the bullet and just say it. _He's gonna be scared of ya now._

"Trust me." Raphael said quietly under his breath.

"Why can't you trust me?" Donatello did not sound condescending or angry; annoyed or shrill. He just seemed hurt.

That question broke his brain. On one hand, he did trust Donatello. On the other, he had to protect his brothers. What a predicament. His mind felt like it was literally cracking. Like he was a robot hearing a dreaded logical paradox.

"Do you think one of our brothers is dangerous, Raphael?"

It was the right question. Donatello was very good with words where he failed. Raphael had no right not to answer it. It was straightforward and Donatello deserved to know. Funny, it was the first time he had even considered it.

"It's…possible." He answered through gritted teeth. He felt like he was betraying his kin, and it stung. A cool hand caught his in the dark. Donatello was so much nicer to him than he needed to be.

Raphael's mind raced with possibilities now that he admitted perhaps something was wrong with his brother. Why did it not occur to him sooner? _Just another fuck up on the novel long tally sheet. _He was growing aggravated again.

Raphael felt his brother's thumb rubbing up and down his hand. He did not know why. Maybe Donatello was trying to be comforting. "What now?" Raphael shifted.

"We have work to do." Donatello responded. Raphael said nothing.

"So whatever you do, don't fall asleep."


	7. Chapter 7

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

One by one.

They kneel in a row. In front of the rat. The _master_. Ritual. Pointless. Painful. But he can watch him here. And watch them.

Eyes never fully close. He observes. So trusting. _He_ is a fool. So full of love, that the doppelgangers of his family can easily trick him. Take him. Tear away his hide and dress in his flesh. Dry out his kind eyes into transparent covers for their own blood colored orbs.

Blood filled, not colored. And the films that were once his family's peaceful eyes are now the only thing stopping the ghouls from leaking out of the occupied carcasses.

The room is ever shifting. Candles move the shadows to their will.

Shadows are on his side. Trying to fight the light. The light they create. Their energy source. He does his part, but they find ways to dilute the darkness.

Rat is talking but he can not hear him. He hears his real voice. An incomprehensible language. Some demonic undertone to tell secrets to his minions.

It hurts his ears, but he does not flinch. He is not supposed to listen.

They will kill him if they know he listens.

They will kill him anyway.

Candles sputter. The shadow retreats up the wall. It regains some territory a moment later in an unending struggle to fight the glow.

Light burns his flesh. It makes his skin crawl. Makes him wish to take it off.

His options are narrow. They outnumber him. And are too close to _him_. To protect him, he must play their game.

Just exist in total ignorance. Even if they know he knows. It is a game.

Just exist. Play the game. Keep up the illusion that everything is normal.

…

Just existing is not working for him anymore.

But the light hurts. He must strike out in the dark. Switch from defensive. To defend his brother.

Play their game in the light. Destroy them in the dark.

Skin burns. Candles feel like a bonfire. No one stirs. Only he is being scorched alive.

But he stands it. Unmoving. Feels his skin melting away. Crisping and sanding to ash on the floor.

Their eyes all open. Empty eyes. Soulless filth. The room spins around as they begin to move in every direction. He resists the urge to hold his head.

They will fall. And he will take back what was never theirs to begin with.

One by one.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

His brothers shuffled through the room, small light sources appearing and disappearing as necessary in his field of vision. Michelangelo was humming something obnoxiously, Raphael was avoiding their master's line of vision from the doorway every now and again, and Donatello was completely absorbed in his current mission.

Leonardo observed each member of his family like a righteous protector. …Mainly because he had no idea how any of the devices Donatello rattled off functioned, much less what they looked like. The turtle needed his tools to fix the power, but they were currently scattered chaotically in and under things in the laboratory.

Leonardo was glad to have swept up the greater part of the glass during yesterday's clean-up. Nonchalantly, he kicked over a piece of lab that had yet to be categorized or thrown away from the cleaning excursion. He bent and picked up a thing-a-ma-jig. Maybe it was one of the mystery tools.

More often than he wished necessary, he found himself staring at Raphael. Or rather, he was caught more times than he wished necessary. Leonardo would not shy away, though, when exposed. Just narrowed his eyes. Until Raphael scoffed or fumed or cussed or sighed and went back to finding Donatello's gadgets.

Funny. It seemed Donatello was doing the same thing to Michelangelo. He would have to inquire about that later. Put an end to it.

On one such occasion, Leonardo sprung on Donatello with his discoveries. "Are any of these what you need, Don?" His voice was neutral as usual. He held out his hands and a light focused upon the thing-a-ma-jig, a watch-a-ma-call-it, and two doo-hickeys he had been able to locate.

Donatello picked out two out of the four and placed them in his make shift tool bucket. "Thanks, Leo." He had long sense pried his eyes off of Michelangelo and rewarded Leonardo with a friendly smile for his finds.

Michelangelo. Leonardo frowned for a moment, remembering the night before. His brother was distant. Usually so talkative, and yet had nothing to say to him the entire time they shared his room. He just went straight to bed. Nothing about comic book heroes or whatever television program he missed because of the dark out. It was down right unnatural.

He would hate to think his younger brother was not himself.

A few minutes later, Raphael tugged out a box he had been working on freeing for some time, and everyone looked over. Eagerly, Donatello searched through it. He found old wires, electronic equipment, and the like necessary to replace the damage to the main source. At least they all hoped.

Leonardo tiptoed closer, as did Michelangelo, to the box. Its contents were unexciting for him. He stood back, hoping the search in the messy lab was complete.

Michelangelo, on the other hand, reached in, shifting through the materials on the opposite side of Donatello, as if trying to be annoying. Comparable procedures usually occurred when he was not dancing in the spotlight. Michelangelo pulled out a particularly thick cord like he was helping. His excited gaze met Donatello, who was not amused. Frankly, he appeared rather bothered.

"Michelangelo, stop touching things." Donatello snatched the wire out of his hand and shoved it back into the box.

Leonardo's neutral features dulled. His nose turned down and he cleared his throat to get Donatello's attention. What good was a meaningful stare if the target was not paying attention.

Donatello not only did not appear to notice Leonardo's subtle warning, but he continued to bombard his baby brother with an angry gaze, one much more menacing than deserved for a touched wire.

Michelangelo had pulled his hand back as if Donatello bit it and stood by. Unable to retreat. Like a deer in headlights. He wore a rather shocked facade.

Leonardo took a step towards the Michelangelo/Donatello stand off and watched Raphael do the same in his peripheral vision.

"Don." Leonardo calmly said his brother's name, trying to pull his intense stare from Michelangelo. It seemed as though Donatello was trying to melt his little brother's brain. That simply would not do.

He had made the first step. He waited for Raphael to explode for whatever reason he excavated this time. He prepared for the worst.

"Come on, Donnie." Raphael, from the opposite side of Leonardo, made an effort to pick up the box between Michelangelo and Donatello.

Leonardo actually blinked. So did Donatello. Donatello finally looked at him. He was not angry. Obviously still irritated, though. And then he looked to Raphael and Leonardo could only see the back of his head. Raphael was expressionless.

Donatello let Raphael take the box. He himself stood from his uncomfortable position and backed away. Leonardo was studying him and he realized everyone else was watching Donatello, too.

Leonardo blinked. Michelangelo and Donatello were back staring at each other over that box of parts. Donatello still looked menacing. He was a step further away, and so was Raphael.

"Don." Leonardo calmly said towards his brother. He took a step forward and saw Raphael do the same. This was not going to end well.

"What, Leo?" Leonardo's world shifted in fast forward, and Donatello was standing up now, being barraged with the eyes of his brothers.

Leonardo did not say anything to follow. He did not have to. A silhouette in the doorway caught all of their attention. Lights and concentrations all turned towards the clearing of their master's throat.

"I can …get started with this." Donatello declared, heaving up his bucket of treasures, and gesturing towards Raphael's box. He was intently watching his feet now, perchance embarrassed. He moved in the direction of the door, on the path to Raphael. He reached out to take the box and Raphael slowly let him have it.

"Michelangelo, if you will please accompany Donatello. He may require your assistance." Splinter moved from the doorway with the intent to let his son pass.

Michelangelo did not seem bothered by the notion at all to continue working. Leonardo found that most strange. Donatello, on the other hand, stopped short of the door with his master's words.

"Sensei," Donatello interjected through Michelangelo's noisy tromp though objects to the doorway. "Raphael helped me wire this place. And Mikey knows what we still need to find in here." Donatello turned from their master, directly at Michelangelo. His face was stern and almost daring Michelangelo to say otherwise.

He did not.

Leonardo kept his mouth shut. The scene played twice in his head as if fate was telling him to intervene, but he really had nothing to say. He stood by quietly, squeezing and releasing a fist to his side.

And their Sensei, after some thought, quietly forfeited to his son's logic. He nodded and watched Donatello fly by him. A much slower, more hesitant Raphael followed after him, after bowing his head slightly to his master.

"I trust everything is okay, Leonardo?" Their father asked his eldest with curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, Sensei." Leonardo responded despite his father's undertones. There was no point in troubling him.

Splinter trusted his son's opinion and his features instantly returned. Still a worried father of four, but the other events of the last day or so were responsible for the concern being beyond the norm.

Leonardo looked over to his youngest brother, who in turn, had a face that spelled out anything but normal. That face instantly disappeared behind an awkward smile when Leonardo stare was noticed.

Splinter had not observed anything he found out of the ordinary, and he turned away back towards the living area. He quipped quietly about how sad it was that he had to miss his favorite shows and reminded his sons where he would be, should any problems arise.

Leonardo turned to watch his father slowly depart, and back to Michelangelo. And just as he did, his younger brother jumped after their father, trying to catch up.

Michelangelo was the fastest. But Leonardo caught him anyway.

And Michelangelo was up against the bare wall, mouth over his hand, unable to call for anyone.

Leonardo listened to his muffled sibling for some time, looking back towards the door every now and again to see if he was heard. No one came. "Michelangelo. I'm not going to hurt you." He removed the arm pinning his brother's shoulders. "Why are you scared of me?"

Michelangelo never really struggled. And slowly Leonardo lowered his hand when the muffles stopped.

"Mikey…" Leonardo urged. There was a candle in the opposite corner of the room. And another on a desk to his left. But other than that, the room was very dark. It was hard to make facial expressions now that the majority of the light walked away with the rest of his family.

Michelangelo was so cold. That was even more alarming. It felt good to touch him. To feel his cool skin. It was very comforting.

Michelangelo looked to his side, towards the door. But he did not scream. He behaved.

Leonardo felt nauseous all of the sudden. And again, he had Michelangelo pinned to the wall, mumbling under his hand. He could hear their father. Closer. But walking away. Michelangelo did not struggle, though. "Michelangelo. I'm not going to hurt you." He carefully said. "Why are you scared of me?" He fought back the sick feeling in his stomach.

The next instant, Michelangelo was unbound in front of him, offering him a remorseful look he could barely make out in the dimness.

Leonardo felt the outline of his face to comfort him, but also trying to absorb that soothing cold.

"I didn't mean to. I swear, Leo." Michelangelo suddenly broke and wrapped his arms around his brother. "I mean it. It was an accident." He buried his head into Leonardo's uninjured shoulder.

"Mikey?" One of Leonardo's arms crept over Michelangelo's shoulder and his hand wrapped around the back of his little brother's neck. "What did you do."

"It was an accident, I swear, Leo." Michelangelo ran circles around that bush.

Leonardo's grip on his brother's neck tightened without either of them really taking notice. "Michelangelo." He softly said.

"I hurt you. I stabbed you with Raph's sai. But it was an accident, I swear, Leo." He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. At least his behavior finally made sense to Leonardo.

He let go of his neck completely. "Mikey." Leonardo whispered. "That's not true." Leonardo rubbed his brother's bald head. It felt so cool. It was addictive.

Michelangelo's grip tightened around Leonardo. "I did, and I'm sorry. I really am. Please don't hate Raph."

Leonardo was more amused than upset. He could barely here his brother's words, because Michelangelo was burrowed so far into his arm. A warm feeling filled his chest. Not hot and uncomfortable like his skin, but a genuine relief. Michelangelo continued to rant about Raphael's innocence, but Leonardo found himself lost in the moment.

"Mikey. You need to stop defending Raphael." Leonardo thumbed Michelangelo's buried head up to look at him. "I know you are just trying to be a good brother. But your eyes were closed. You didn't see him."

Michelangelo stopped fidgeting as much. Leonardo knew he hit the right cords. "Don't worry Mikey." Michelangelo's body was not as cool as it once was. Perhaps he had absorbed that good feeling. Still. Having him close was a comfort in its own.

"Raph wouldn't hurt you on purpose." Michelangelo's eyes still shined with signs of possible tears, but he believed his brother. Because Leonardo was never wrong.

"He would, Mikey." The bridge of Leonardo's nose lowered so that he could look his brother in the eyes. "He did."

Michelangelo averted his eyes, but Leonardo's hand pushed his face back towards his. "There's something wrong with Raph, Mikey. But I intend to fix him." He loved his brother's baby blue eyes. They were wide, scared, and all trusting. He loved them most when Michelangelo looked at him as he did now. With absolute loyalty.

"What's wrong with him, Leo?" Michelangelo piped, trying to retreat back to Leonardo's shoulder. He was a complete burrower when he wanted comfort.

"He's not been himself lately." Leonardo allowed his brother to finally have his way and bury his face from Leonardo's soft stare.

"He seems pretty _Raph_ to me." Michelangelo was again barely audible through Leonardo's flesh.

"He tried to actually hurt you, Mikey."

The sea green head shot back up. "No way! Raph's my best bud!" Michelangelo defended his older brother once more.

Leonardo gritted his teeth and flashed Michelangelo a warning through his eyes. "I stopped him, Mikey. He was trying to hurt you, don't you remember?"

Michelangelo over exaggerated his head shake though appeared to be pondering. "Negative, Captain. Raph's got a temper, but he's not going to seriously hurt _moi_." Michelangelo shifted an awkward smile towards the eldest.

"Yesterday, Michelangelo. Raphael was not only trying to hurt me. He was trying to get to you." Leonardo felt Michelangelo back up in his arms, but he did not let his grip. Not that Michelangelo really had anywhere to go, as there was Leonardo in front of him and a brick wall behind. Literally between a rock and a hard place.

Michelangelo had to hear the truth, whether he liked it or not. It was better than him continuing to live in ignorance and not be ready the next time Raphael lost control of himself.

His little brother looked dumbfounded. Like he was remembering something different entirely or just extremely confused. Leonardo squeezed his shoulder and Michelangelo clumsily adjusted himself against his plastron.

"I know you do not want to hear it, but I don't want you two alone." Leonardo's _leader_ voice shined through.

Michelangelo shook his head. "And I thought Donnie was acting weird."

"I may need your help." Leonardo felt Michelangelo's eyes lift up to his face again. "In case Raphael tries to kill me again."

Michelangelo blinked several times on _kill_. But he kept his mouth shut. "Can I depend on you, Michelangelo?" Leonardo's voice was low but straightforward.

Yet again, no response. Michelangelo silently leaned more of his weight onto his older brother. The cool sensation Michelangelo's body offered Leonardo had faded, but his own did not feel unpleasant anymore.

"Michelangelo, if you don't help me stop him, you'll help him." Leonardo rationally tried to explain to his little brother. "Then you would be helping him hurt me."

Blue eyes closed. Leonardo leaned in and whispered to his brother.

"You wouldn't hurt me… right, Michelangelo?"

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

No longer alone. The majority of his family is nothing more than slime and bones, but he still has him.

Now to plan. And plan. And plan. And capture the ghouls and make them pay. Kill them. Destroy them. Rip their false bodies to pieces and lay them in some abandoned sewer to feed insects and rodents.

_Whoosh. _

_Click. Click. Click._

Light floods every crevasse of the room. A deafening roar of white noise assaults his ears. He ducks his head down, to protect it from the blinding lights and wailing machines. Area by area fills with sickening light.

Screaming. Now? Why now? Why is someone screaming? He opens his eyes in hopes to catch the perpetrator, but all he sees is white. Too much light.

Light causes the room to spin. It obeys them. And they want to confuse his bearings. But he spins with the room. To even it out. To the best of his ability.

Is he alright? Did they find him? Do they know he is now against them? _No…_

He jumps to locate him, but a table flies in his way. He crashes through it. More tricks. All of this light.

His ears bleed as the racket invades. He is more than half tempted to rip out his eyes to rid himself of the loss of focus. The lair's equipment churning back to life hurts, but it is the screaming tearing apart his sanity. 

This would be a very bad time to lose his sanity.

Can not afford to lose his grasp of reality now, when he needs to save the only brother he has left.

He wills himself to his feet. Wonders how much of his skin is left after just this small amount of time in the light. So dangerous. He has to find shadow.

Find darkness. So that he can see. And find his brother in desperate need of him.

The screaming stops the moment he listens for its direction.

Maybe they shut him up. His throat slit. Or stomach gutted. Shell cracked open to reveal a tender and easily manipulated flesh. He can hear the swarms of insects now, crawling and slithering their way to the buffet that would have been his brother had he reacted faster.

His fist rams against something hard. It is an accident, but not the second time. It is hard to remain positive when listening to your only hope losing the struggle to live.

Another high-pitched wail. From behind him. No, to the side. Above? Where is it coming from?! He looks at his own body. _Is .. he inside me?_

The screaming comes from him. His brother is inside him. He has to get him out.

He claws at his own flesh without feeling it. His seared flesh rips effortlessly. The blood that still seeps underneath absolutely burns him. He flinches back at first, not expecting such a smoldering sensation.

He is going to burn alive, but maybe he can save his brother. The innocent one. Without remorse for his own body, he shreds himself. It must be working because the screaming is louder. He was getting closer.

The white noise abruptly ends. The brightness fades.

This time, it is not the lights.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Someone had to be getting murdered to fabricate screaming like that. He jumped down from a jaggedly gated overlook above a secluded part of the lair where the main power grid operated. Simultaneously, his brother landed to his side. They took off for the main room.

Neither said anything as they raced through their home. Donatello's mind slide showed the different scenarios he could possibly encounter, and how to handle them appropriately.

It had also occurred to him that Michelangelo was not the source of that earsplitting ruckus. Someone's voice none of them had ever received the displeasure of hearing in such a distressed state was at fault.

Donatello rounded the corner and accessed the situation. The action was over; everything was still; his brother as stationary as the overturned furniture around him.

Logic told Donatello not to call the name of the one in which he was almost certain would not be able to hear him; he saved his breath. Raphael, on the other hand, was loud enough for the both of them when he identified the brother gracelessly occupying the cement floor between the kitchen and living area.

There was no delay. They were at their brother's side a second later, Donatello pushing away Raphael's arm when he reached to move the unconscious turtle.

Donatello administered all the right measures. He did his best to appear confident to Raphael as he checked for vital signs, corrected the turtle's airway, and made sure he was still _breathing_.

Though he remained calm, his attitude did nothing for Raphael, who took every opportunity to peek over his shoulder or check life signs for himself. He was talking. Saying things under his breath or lightly to Donatello, but he could not decipher it. It sounded like mumbled garbage to Donatello. All that mattered was that the sprawled brother in front of him was okay. Stable. The live and well one would have to wait.

"Get me some bandages. Clean ones. Antiseptic. Tape." Donatello rattled off to Raphael. Not that their brother's wounds were in desperate need of attention, but that he needed the supplies eventually and Raphael was a horrible nuisance with nothing to do in this type of situation.

Raphael took off without a word, probably as thankful he was given a task as Donatello was for his absence. Donatello left the unconscious turtle on his side, as it left his neck and head in a more favorable condition, rather than pushing the turtle on his shell. Frankly, humans had it easy having straight backs, in times like this. Gently, the turtle surveyed his brother, calming and encouraging himself mentally in case he stumbled upon some panic worthy damage.

His brother's body was abnormally hot. Feverish perhaps. His body was the host of many deep scratches and punctures, though nothing seemed deep enough to be vital. The turtle was unconscious but not in peaceful oblivion. His face seemed pained, and he flinched every so often. Donatello gingerly lifted one of his arms to inspect further.

"Get away from him!" A screech from behind stopped Donatello momentarily, but he continued his assessment anyway. Until he was inelegantly pushed over his knocked out brother.

"I said back off, Don!" Michelangelo pulled, rather than pushed now, seeing the error of his way.

"Mike, stop!" Donatello wrestled back. He was careful not to disturb Leonardo more than he already had. "Get off me!" Donatello suddenly had the notion that Michelangelo might do to him what he may have done to his oldest brother.

"What'd you do to him?" Michelangelo questioned as he struggled with Donatello's arm. Donatello tried to regain some leverage, but his little brother made getting to his feet practically impossible. He rolled to his side, away from the injured turtle, tripping Michelangelo as he went.

Michelangelo was a quick little bugger. He was back on his feet and over a prone Donatello in a flash. Donatello shoved his brother away with the heel of his foot, and used the same propulsion to jump to his feet.

Donatello readied a defensive stance.

Michelangelo moved between Leonardo and his purple-clad brother. "What'd you do?!" He risked a look over his shoulder to see the unmoving body and then back at Donatello.

He was being defensive, too. Donatello put his hands up in front of him, signaling a truce. _No, Michelangelo was not capable of hurting anyone_. What was there to be afraid of? Donatello steadied his breathing. "He's hurt, Mikey. I'm trying to help him."

"You… you didn't?..." Michelangelo questioned. The poor turtle seemed so confused.

"No!" Donatello jumped on the defensive. "Of course not!"

"Leonardo…" Both brothers turned to see their father's reaction to the scene. At first, he seemed as though the walking stick would not have the power to keep him standing, but he composed himself and moved into the room. Splinter made his way to his injured son and kneeled down beside him. "Leonardo." He repeated, carefully feeling the turtle's forehead.

Donatello pushed past Michelangelo and knelt beside his father. "He's…going to be okay. I just need to…"

Michelangelo growled behind him, and Donatello lost track of his words. Both Splinter and Donatello turned around.

"Why the hell you lookin' at me like that?" Raphael entered, arms full of supplies Donatello asked for, and quite a few he did not. His eyes were locked with Michelangelo's. Donatello guessed Michelangelo's train of thought.

"Raph was with me, Mikey. Chill." Donatello reached out his hand, a hint that he wanted Raphael to hand him something from his stash of medical supplies.

Splinter eyed each of his sons as Raphael came forward and Donatello took what he needed. "I'd like to move him to his room." Donatello broke the silence, as he continued to check his brother's injuries.

A few moments later, Donatello had successfully bandaged any wounds that had yet to congeal. Leonardo's arms and legs were cut into, not with the precision and accuracy of a sword or knife, but something blunt. The worst gash in Leonardo's flesh was where he had been jabbed with Raphael's sai. When he was convinced their brother would not fall apart if they moved him, Donatello looked to his family and waited.

"Who did this?" Michelangelo's voice was higher pitched than normal and poorly masking the panic within him. His anger was gone. Anger was fleeting with the youngest. He found himself on Leonardo's left side, delaying until told it was time to lift him.

No one confessed. Donatello really was not expecting an answer to Michelangelo's question anyway; not when Michelangelo was his prime suspect.

Quietly, three brothers moved the fourth to Michelangelo's bedroom, as it was on the bottom floor. Usually, Donatello's "patients" were put in his lab, but for obvious reasons, a change was made.

The mess of toys and comics and discarded pizza boxes was kicked to the sides of the room, as far as it would go anyway. The family sat in awkward silence as Donatello continued to clean and bandage the cuts.

Donatello was thanking whatever divine power watched over them that no one had jumped to attack Raphael. The turtle hid it well, but Donatello could tell he was ready to pounce on anyone that had something to say regarding him. Michelangelo was sad now, holding onto Leonardo's hand.

Splinter sighed heavily. "I can not believe any of my sons would do this to their brother." His voice was down trodden. Donatello knew that his father honestly believed this and was not being facetious.

Donatello immediately looked at Michelangelo. Michelangelo turned his head to Raphael. Raphael narrowed his eyes on Leonardo, not looking to either conscious brother. He growled quietly to himself and gritted his teeth.

Splinter had not meant to introduce an accusation, but the tension between the three caused him to pause. "Michelangelo." He addressed his youngest to speak.

He was very timid. Donatello knew all of them felt the same way. Tattling was one thing. They usually watched each other's backs for petty crimes committed. When no harm was done. But the attack of a brother. How could they keep their information withheld?

"I uh…" Michelangelo kept glancing at Raphael like his older brother was going to turn around and rip his face off. But the hot head did not budge or even glance towards the suddenly nervous one.

Donatello placed a damp cloth on Leonardo's forehead. He was definitely running a fever. With another wash cloth, he cleaned off blood that had long since dried in various places.

"Mikey…" Donatello softly said, gesturing for the turtle to relinquish Leonardo's hand. Donatello blinked and grabbed for Michelangelo's instead when he saw crimson soaked palms. The turtle did not fight him as he forced his fingers away and saw just how bloody those hands were.

Donatello's mind questioned again whether or not Michelangelo was capable, but he pushed his doubts of his brother's innocence to the backburner. "You need to wash your hands." At least he sounded neutral.

Michelangelo looked away from him and buried his hands between his knees. He said nothing, and assumed Splinter's lack of follow up meant that was just fine.

Donatello just about wiped Leonardo's bloodied hands when he realized that he had not cleaned a wound anywhere this low on his arm. His eyebrow rose with the odd discovery as he searched his brother's hand and wrist for any damage.

"Sensei." Donatello's voice was almost a whisper, but loud enough in the silent room. Splinter came forth as called for and leaned in next to him.

Carefully, Donatello scraped under Leonardo's fingernails and Splinter's eyes widened. Squished pieces of green skin fell upon a bandage meant to catch them.

"…He did it to himself." Donatello alerted the rest of the room to their evidence. His voice was as shocked as Splinter's face.

"He wouldn't!" Michelangelo exclaimed and he moved in close to his oldest brother. He studied that emotionless face long and hard.

"He did, Mikey." Raphael finally piped up from his solitude. He did not look anxious to enlighten anyone as to why he knew this.

"No." Michelangelo looked past Donatello to Splinter, as if measuring who believed him. And who did not. "Father, Leo said someone would try to hurt him. He wouldn't do this to himself." Michelangelo's voice was a bit whiney.

Raphael kicked himself off his corner wall and joined everyone else at the bed. "Donnie'll figure it out, dun worry," he said as he placed his hand on Michelangelo's shoulder.

Michelangelo shrugged him off. Donatello knew he wanted to say something. Something angry and uncalled for. But Michelangelo was not Raphael, and he kept it to himself.

"I have to run some tests." He hesitated. He did not know if there was anything to 'figure out.' If Leonardo was hurting himself, his problems were mental, not physical. Sometimes, there was no fixing one's psyche. He neglected to mention thus for the sake of his brothers. Donatello cleared his throat. Michelangelo was not going to like the next part. "I may need restraints…"

Raphael whispered some curse word to himself and turned away from the crowd. Donatello knew the thought probably crossed all of their minds, save Michelangelo, but his voice actually made it a reality.

Michelangelo quickly turned to Splinter again, wanting him to protest.

"Raphael. If you would…" Their master and father sympathetically watched his oldest son breathe.

Michelangelo was visibly shaking. Donatello saw that his brother's feet seemed confused. He wanted to run out the room but he wanted to stay and protect Leonardo, too.

Raphael moved for the door. Splinter caught him by the arm, though and motioned towards Leonardo's belongings occupying the foot of the bed. Without a word, he scooped them up and left the room. He was being awfully quiet. Perhaps he saw it as his way of helping the situation. Or maybe it was as simple as he was missing a Leonardo to argue with.

Donatello had absolutely none of the testing materials he would need to even begin finding out what was wrong with Leonardo, but he needed to start somewhere. And he sensed Michelangelo's hostility as soon as he was caught staring at him.

"I'm not leaving." Michelangelo defensively said. He gripped Leonardo's arm as if it would anchor him to the room. Donatello suddenly felt guilty over the treatment he bestowed upon his baby brother ever since this mess started.

Donatello slightly smiled. "You need to wash your hands, Mikey." He tossed Michelangelo a towel, one of many Raphael had provided. "With soap. If you are going to assist me."

Blue eyes were slightly surprised, but accepting of Donatello's unexpected truce. Michelangelo stared down at his own hands now, finally realizing just how blood covered and kind of disgusting they were. "Right." He stood. And looked at Leonardo as if it would be the last time he would see his brother.

"I'll be right back."

* * *

my favourite scary movie quote is in this one. ^^


	11. Chapter 11

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Red is blaring at him. He can not hear him. But one does not need to perceive sound to understand him. Usually anger. There is anger, but it is nothing more than a visage now.

Can not move his arms. Can not move his legs. World is whirling around. He is pretty sure he is going to vomit.

Vision is blurry, but he can improvise.

Black everywhere. But in no specific pattern as it should be. Spots and lines, jumping around. Disappearing and materializing; Coming closer. Changing shapes. Maybe going further away.

A glint only known to steel accompanies various silhouettes.

A sword cuts through the air. Reflex tries to move to block, but nothing happens. Sai appears. And stops that foreign sword before it slices his throat.

He takes it back. He can hear. A delay with a deep echo. Sounds clash and cling long after strikes land.

His arm responds. He sits up. If this is up. Maybe he falls down. World keeps moving. Spinning. Spiraling. The planet is rotating without him. Maybe he is defying physics. Or maybe he is about to be launched off, suddenly refused by gravity.

A jolt of pain shoots through his body. An ache always there, just now settling into realization. Jettison into space is rapidly preferred.

He wants to shake his head, but he is pretty sure it will fly off its hinges if he does. Pressure on his shoulder. He is shaking now. He is not cold. That is strange.

Wait, Red is responsible. Pulling and pushing on his shoulders. He fights the blur in his eyes to focus for just a moment. Yeah, Red is still angry. But Red is always angry. At least at him. Still something else there. Might have to actually hear his voice to catch it, though.

He tries to talk. Tries to give an order. Whether or not he did is lost to history, as Red made no indication he understands.

Maybe Red feels this way, too.

There is a darkness seeping into the scene, from the corners of his vision. No matter where he turns his head. If he is turning it.

He feels tangled. Like he is out of control. The most horrible feeling in the world.

Unexpectedly, he is weightless. Like he is on air. Well. He is on air. Red just lifted him up.

Stop. He needs Red to stop moving. He thinks he is vocalizing it, but no way to tell. He can not hear his own voice. No idea if Red is telling him to stop talking or if he is speaking at all.

Almost desperate to beg. Almost. But he will not. He uses the little strength he has to go with his brother's flow.

The darkness on the edge of his sight is taking over him now. He wants to panic, but he does not. He will not lose his senses. He refuses.

Unfortunately, it is not his choice to make.

And then it is over.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Studying his brother's body, he was not surprised to find older cuts and abrasions that he had not sewn shut himself. Donatello gently ran his finger over one such incise near Leonardo's right elbow. Now that the turtle was free of his gear, Donatello had a good look at a few hidden injuries he had been previously denied privy.

He would have probably been nagging Leonardo about it the entire time, had the turtle been awake. Michelangelo shifted beside him, wanting to help, but not entirely sure how to go about doing so.

Donatello took the hint and instructed Michelangelo to apply the cool washcloth to their sleeping brother's forehead again. Leonardo was burning up, and he had no idea why. Obviously feverish. His body was trying to fight something alien. But so far, he seemed fit as always. Every new cut was clean. Every old had patched up healthily, even the ones denied of his care.

He must be sick; inflicted by some unmentioned illness. It would be difficult pinpointing that without further symptoms. The doctor side of him silently wished that Leonardo would spring to life and confess everything he has felt since the beginning of time. But the worried brother hoped he would stay asleep, knowing Leonardo would not be too keen on the straps currently tied around his wrists and ankles.

_Stupid Leo…_ Donatello basked in his quick moment of frustration and got back to work. Of course his brother was not stupid. He just hated being an inconvenience, which usually led to something even more menacing if Donatello failed to pick up any subtle hints of mystery behavior.

"Um. Donnie?" Michelangelo held Leonardo's mask in one hand. They apparently forgot to remove it earlier. The wash cloth sat without assistance, dribbling droplets of water down Leonardo's face and neck.

Michelangelo was directing Donatello's attention to his brother's neck. And Donatello leaned in for a closer look. "It's all like… funky looking." Michelangelo offered the extent of his medical knowledge.

Maneuvering around a mutant turtle's shell was no picnic, but Donatello finally gained the courage to push his brother's neck forward, with a pillow's support, to shine light on Michelangelo's detection.

Donatello noted it looked like nothing more than a bruise. And a bruise on a turtle was barely noticeable and about as common as Michelangelo's bad jokes. In the direct light though, the back of Leonardo's head and neck looked like someone ran a yellow marker over his flesh, tarnishing the leafy green to an unhealthy color.

"Just… feel it." Michelangelo seemed grossed out.

And Donatello did. Even bruises sometimes have soft healing tissue under them, but this was ridiculous. His fingers sunk down into sickly green skin further than he fancied possible. Perhaps there was swelling to account for the extra room. But swelling was not usually soft. This was just… grotesque.

For lack of better words, Donatello just locked eyes with Michelangelo. Michelangelo swallowed uneasily. He wanted an answer. They all would.

"I'm going to need a blood sample." His brain was churning and measuring probabilities of every medical condition he could fathom. Unfortunately, his brothers often confused him as a doctor, when he was nothing more than a bookworm.

"Blood?" Michelangelo's voice almost squeaked.

"Yes, Mikey." Donatello twisted his shoulder, stretching the rested muscle. "We're a step closer, though." He gave his brother a small smirk, again thinking he was glad this hatchet was buried. "Stay with him. I will see what I can salvage in my lab."

Michelangelo's big blue eyes shined back at him. His baby brother had the tendency to make him feel like superman sometimes. It was very much appreciated.

"Hey Donnie?"

"Yeah?"

"… I kinda hid your needles. Under some stuff. In a drawer. During cleanup."

Donatello genuinely smiled.

Once in the hallway, Donatello could hear the suffering of Raphael's punching bag. He offered Raphael a quick grin as he passed by, though the hothead appeared not to notice in favor of beating the stuffing out of the poor bag.

Donatello fiddled with drawers and skimmed through his misplaced possessions. Luckily, the turtle was used to working in organized chaos. Well. This was less organized than usual, give or take.

"He okay?" Donatello gave himself an eight out of ten for hiding his little jump when Raphael's voice suddenly spoke behind him.

He did not even know where to start answering the question. "He's not unstable. Just ill." Donatello closed a drawer and tried another one. _Now where had Michelangelo banished his torturous syringes?_

It was somewhat awkward as he opened and closed every hiding place he could get his hands on as he felt Raphael's eyes burning a hole through his shell. He finally glanced back, just to see if he was making it up, but there Raphael was, leaning against the door frame, watching him silently.

"He's going to be okay, Raph." Donatello paused for a moment to offer his brother some sort of comfort. Raphael may not look like it, but he was as worried as the rest of them.

"What're ya doin' now?" A hint of curiosity betrayed in his voice.

"I'm going to see what his blood can tell me. Compare it to a sample of my own. See if there are bacteria or signs of infection." _Eureka_. He recovered a silver box snapped shut under a snapped wooden board poorly serving as a false bottom in what used to be his computer desk.

"How's Mike?"

Donatello looked up at him, satisfied with his found medical supplies. "He's calmed down. You may want to talk to…"

Raphael growled and turned away, a big obvious "no" for Donatello's suggestion. Chances are, Donatello realized, that was the end of the conversation.

_Right as always_. Raphael left the door frame and the discussion. Donatello might have pursued the grumpy turtle in hopes to get him to lighten up as well, had there not been more important matters at hand.

A short time later, Donatello was studying several splotches of blood under a microscope that made it through undamaged.

After three hours, he had yet to move. He was forced to eat something for a five minute break, and he went back to work, jotting down notes, drawing hypothesized diagrams of proper samples and distinguishing what a malicious addition would actually look like.

"Dude… It's like midnight." Michelangelo yawned and peaked over his shoulder. "Is he ever gonna wake up?"

"He will." Rule number five-hundred and forty-three of the lair: Donatello was always cranky after hours of staring at molecules and atoms and bacteria and microscopic organisms. Just a fact.

Michelangelo abided by the laws of the lair and backed off his working brother. He was pacing now, less from worry and more to keep his body active and so it would not find a cozy spot to snooze. Donatello hated distraction, though.

Donatello was an expert of dealing with fatigue. Where as his brother was not. Half an hour later, he was examining Leonardo's strange coloring again. Michelangelo almost fell out his chair from exhaustion.

And Michelangelo was asleep, uncomfortably positioned somehow on the chair and the foot of Leonardo's bed soon after. At least he did not sound like a chain saw when he slept. That was more Raphael's gig.

He went over his notes and was back to Leonardo once more. His findings just did not make any sense. All clues pointed to this as the infected area, but his skin was clean. No abrasions. No entryway for bacteria. He was starting to fear he was wrong in his analysis.

Definitely coffee time. He stretched his arms and legs, yawning quietly to himself as he felt it was time to refuel. Lazily, he strolled out Michelangelo's door and towards the kitchen.

Go figure the nocturnal one himself was staring at a wall when he arrived. Raphael snapped out of his trance immediately upon realizing he was no longer alone, and proceeded to stare at the table instead.

Coffee machine: on. Favorite mug: obtained. Mission was so far a success. Now to either sit in discomfited silence with his brother for the several minutes it took the coffee to brew, or try to make a decent conversation. "Can't sleep?" _Lame_…

Raphael looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Nope." He fidgeted for a moment, as if deciding whether to go or stay, but settled. "How's it comin?" And people say he was completely merciless. That was a total save if Donatello ever heard one.

"It's… coming." Donatello sighed quietly and frankly found the wall across from him rather enjoyable to look at. "Wish I could be more helpful in situations like this, sometimes."

Raphael's head fully turned. "Get off it. You do what ya can, and it's more than tha rest of us." His words were rough because he was Raphael, but there was no edge to them.

Donatello smiled down at the table and took a few moments to just breathe. "There's just something I'm not getting. Something I'm missing."

"You'll figure it out." That was just one of those statements that if anyone other than Raphael said it, he would be instantly infuriated. It sounded like a total blow off, but from him, it was encouragement.

"Leonardo has a peculiar ailment we failed to notice. On the back of his cranium. His skull could be cracked. Would explain the swelling." It was late. And break time. So sue him if he felt like opening up to someone after this stressful day.

"…And?"

"And I don't have the technology necessary to see what the problem is without possibly making it worse." Donatello sighed. Now Raphael was going to worry more. Or worse, steal an extremely expensive machine from a hospital. Of course, he would have no idea what to grab, so make that several very expensive machines.

"Any way ta tell how long he's been like this?" Raphael questioned. Donatello looked up, as he was expecting more of a one-way conversation.

"No." Donatello pondered for a moment. "It could be days. Weeks. Leonardo is not one to really complain about his hardships. I can't remember the last time he said he had a headache." He smirked at his eldest brother's stubbornness. Why, he had no idea.

"What if he got hit. Really hard. Would that screw'em up?" Raphael quizzed.

"I would remember anything sustained _that_ hard. And I'm drawing a blank."

Raphael's side of the conversation came to a close. Donatello looked up at the silence as if it was a hint in its own. Raphael's face contorted into an obstinate fortress. He was hiding something. That same annoying attitude Donatello dealt with the night before.

The coffee had stopped pouring, signaling its readiness for consumption, but Donatello had yet to notice. He scrutinized his brother and those eyes that suddenly refused to look in his direction. "Don't do this now."

Raphael's eyes narrowed, not in anger, but as they would as if someone had hit him physically. "It's nothin, Donnie. He just got bumped on tha head by ya punk witha lucky shot."

Raphael cleared his throat and turned his head slightly from Donatello's direction. He did not want to see the disappointment. "He was outa it for a few minutes then he was fine. I swear."

Room went dead silent. Raphael made sure Donatello was still there. And he was, with a frozen shocked expression on his face. "Probly nothin ta do with it." He added uneasily.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Donatello pushed himself off the table, but kept his palms flat on its surface. Raphael turned away again.

"Well, I mean… He wasn't bleedin' or nothin." Raphael grew defensive. "He said he was alright. Looked fine ta me."

Oh. He could have killed them both and not felt an ounce of guilt for it. "That's… oh my god, Raph. He could have died! Head injuries are serious! He could still die!"

"He ain't gonna die, Donnie." Raphael's gaze met his in a flash.

"This is serious. You never listen to me. You take my requests one ear and out the other." Donatello's cheeks were flushed. He was tired and miserable and frustrated and now he was angry, too.

"He wasn't bleedin. I swear. He walked home an everythin." Raphael stood. Not to be intimidating but he hated being scolded down upon. Being the tallest had its advantages.

"Irresponsible. I try so hard to keep you guys alive, and you guys try so hard to get yourselves killed." He crossed his arms across his chest to keep them from flailing around.

"That ain't true, Don." Raphael's cheeks puffed up. If Donatello did not know him better, he would think he was pouting.

Donatello shook his head. "It is true, Raphael. You don't think. I tell you over and over and you just don't get it. What if all of this was preventable? What if I can't cure him this time?!" Donatello turned away.

Raphael started off several lines but they ended before comprehensible. He was tongue-tied. Or just too pissed to talk. Donatello could not see his face to make an honest assumption. He heard Raphael growl and slam his fist on the table. Yet again, Donatello realized that anger was just as likely directed at him as to Raphael himself.

"Anything else you want to _not_ tell me?"

"Fuck this." A chair was violently overturned on Raphael's trek out of the kitchen.

Donatello cringed with the abrupt noise but fought the urge to turn around. He still felt hot, though, boiling under his skin at both of his brothers. Raphael was just the one there to hear it.

And now he was departing. That was even more infuriating.

Donatello finally turned and moved to the edge of the kitchen. It took every ounce of his self control not to scream after his disappearing brother his sudden hopes that the hothead would get lost in the sewers or hit by an eighteen wheeler. He held his tongue, though, already feeling that stingy guilty feeling for even thinking such horrible thoughts.

"Where are you going?!" Donatello called after him, putting ill sentiments out of his mind.

Raphael's pace only quickened to the exit. "Why are you leaving?" Donatello actually attempted to sound more reasonable, trying to get him to stay.

Nothing. "Raph!" Donatello jumped out into the living room after his brother as the door opened. Too bad he fixed the power.

The door started closing immediately behind Raphael.

"Lemme go. Or I'ma do somethin you're gonna regret."

* * *

dramaz are still scary, right? ... darn storyline gettin' in the way of my creepiness.


	13. Chapter 13

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Submerged in complete darkness. He cannot feel his body. Thoughts are clouded. Mind wandering. Wondering. Thoughts betraying. Scenes he does not want to see, playing before his eyes.

It is agonizing. So then he is being tortured. What horrible beasts to play with him further, rather than just end it.

Of course that will be their mistake. Their fancy for teasing him. It will be their undoing. He is underestimated. Misjudged.

In his mind's eye, he watches the horrors of his life. The mistreatments. The mistakes. The victims that die with the villains.

Sees the crescent moon blades making perfect incisions in a younger brother. Purple is screaming, but he cannot interfere. He wants to turn away, but forced to watch it again. Purple struggles to speak, but the pain is too much.

His entrails are free to fall, as nothing holds them in place. They splash on the bloodied ground, followed by every once living organ in proximity. Brother twitches, shrieks long after he has passed on.

And he hangs there like laundry out to dry. Even waves like fresh sheets, as there is nothing left but hollowed skin. And eyes with nothing behind them. Gawking at him.

Shadow strings sew him shut when the process is complete. His brother is no longer vacant. And no longer his brother.

Of course Red thinks this is his fault. Off to the side, next in line. There are no actual tangible beings doing this; only shades. Creatures without bodies or anything of substance, hence why they need flesh to occupy.

Purple does the honors this time, rather than nothings. Red's skin is flayed ever so slowly by a creature wearing his brother's flesh. It still bleeds in unperfected areas, but otherwise looks exactly like him.

Red does not scream at all. Red just stares at him. Red almost frightens him with how still he is as he is massacred. And then all that was his sibling drops to the floor in a nauseating spatter and mingles together with the other.

Now they are brothers again. And he is alone.

Rat is last. Carved out by what used to be his two sons and dying, whispering of him. Vision is blurry at this point, but he maintains.

Rat is more difficult. Frailer. Smaller. It takes some real work pitting him. Other shadow drudges along side them. By the end of it, Red and Purple are covered with what had been their father.

The darkness, his betrayer. Making him see these things over and over and over and over. If he can not trust the light.

And he can not trust the darkness.

What is there left to rely upon.


	14. Chapter 14

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Donatello maybe got three hours of sleep before an obnoxious Michelangelo started jumping his shell about Leonardo's condition. Granted, he had not meant to fall asleep on the desk, but sometimes what the body wants, the body gets.

"He's still not awake, Donnie!" Michelangelo's high pitched voice was definitely unwelcome this morning.

Donatello pondered. His brother had been asleep for over twenty-four hours. It could be just as good of a sign as bad. Good, for perhaps the body was healing itself, and bad because he seeped into something beyond unconscious. He groaned as he finally stood, his body protesting the few hours of sleep he had the last few nights.

"Calm down, Mikey." Donatello yawned as he spoke. He hated to sound so nonchalant about the situation.

"You want breakfast? Coffee? Toast? Anything you want, Don!" Michelangelo rambled into hyper active mode, throwing Donatello off his balance to avoid the younger brother's sudden urge to attach to the genius's shell.

"Yeah. That'd be great, Mikey." Donatello smiled awkwardly as the other turtle bounced towards the door.

"Great. I'll get food. You fix Leo." Michelangelo was nervous. There was no hiding it. But he was trying to do something. Anything to help.

A few hours later, Donatello was clacking at his keyboard, using all of his collected information to compare to cases on the internet. If anything was going to save the day, it was Google, and the slew of medical research sites he had previously found his way into.

At some point in the morning, his father had entered his room, shyly questioning his son's progress. After some small talk about the few things that Leonardo could be suffering from, and how medicating any one of them would hurt him if he was not actually diagnosed correctly, Donatello changed the subject to something less nerve-racking.

"How is Raphael doing? I've already ran into Mikey." _Raphael_. Only a little less offensive to his stress level, but still lower, none the less.

Splinter's whiskers twitched. Never a good sign. "I have not had the pleasure of his company this morning." He did not favor his sons oversleeping.

Donatello raised an eyebrow but shrugged and took a bite of a cookie off of one of the three plates of random snacks Michelangelo brought into his room as various points of the day. He neglected to mention Raphael's storming out. He would coax his brother out personally, since his crossness with his brother probably led to his absence anyway.

"I'll check on him, Sensei." Donatello presented a guilty smile and Splinter waited for an explanation. "I kind of bit his head off last night. I need to apologize."

Splinter nodded his head and allowed his son room as he stood from his chair. "We are all worried. He will understand." Splinter began to dismiss himself but turned back around. "Send him to lunch when you are finished with him. Michelangelo has prepared much more than necessary for all of us."

"Yes, Sensei." Donatello bowed his head slightly, grabbed a plate of cookies meant to be a peace offering, and took off for the door down the walkway.

He knocked quietly. Each brother had a particular knock. Whether he meant to or not, he just told Raphael who was outside. Hopefully that would not effect his decision to answer.

"Raph?" Donatello spoke the hothead's name and knocked quietly again. Still no answer. "Raphael. Answer me, please. Or I am coming in." His threat was not much of a threat, and it did not do the trick. There was no response.

And quietly, just as he promised, Donatello opened the door to his brother's room. Light shined past him, and the room was obviously empty.

…Raphael had not come home. He walked in anyway, shuffled through the dark room, making sure his brother was not going to great lengths to avoid him by actually hiding. No such luck. Raphael was not there.

The door crept almost shut behind him and Donatello went back to his research. As he worked, he wished he had not gone looking for Raphael, else he would have not have noticed his missing presence. It bugged him, but finding a cure was more important at the moment than finding Raphael.

By early that evening, Donatello was positive Leonardo was going to be okay. And he finally had a solid theory. It was time to administer some sort of care. Except he had no medicine or anything called for in his printed medical reports.

He took the opportunity to stretch his legs, walking through the lair as he made the call to April. He requested mainly antibiotics if she could find them, gave her how many, what prescriptions would work, and what dosage. He also added a side request of particular instruments that would help him drain the fluids that he accumulated under Leonardo's skin. An unpleasant job, but somebody had to do it.

Donatello exhaustedly smiled at his father when he got off the shell cell with April. With confidence, he said Leonardo was going to be okay. "Leonardo sustained a head injury," he started, leaving out the part where both Leonardo and Raphael knew about it and neglected to tell him. "And though there was no sign of impact or possible route for infection, the injured tissue below his skin still became contaminated. I would estimate for a while now. It's rare, and makes detection very difficult. His body was trying to fight it, so was running a high fever. That easily explains his behavior. It's a sort of illness, brought on by high fever from infections so close to the brain. It's dangerous. But curable." Donatello felt a little awkward, sounding like a doctor. He subconsciously rubbed the back of his head once the speech was over.

"I called April. She will do what she can. He really needs medicine, though. His body will not cure on his own." Donatello added less positive than before.

"Donatello. Will there be any permanent damage?" Splinter gravely asked.

There was a delay and his father's expression sunk before he even had the chance to answer him. Because it took him a second to firmly decide his answer. "I don't know."

Splinter sighed, but perked up just a little. "I have faith in your abilities, my son."

Donatello nodded with the compliment. "Thank you, Father." He looked around for a moment and then back to his master. "I am going to see if there is anything else I can do."

As Donatello was stepping away, he abruptly stopped when Splinter spoke again. "Raphael has yet to come home." Donatello internally cringed.

"I know, Father," was the only thing he could think to say as he slowly began his trek towards Michelangelo's room.

He knocked to make his presence known as he crept through the door. There, Michelangelo sat like a very tired, but loyal soldier by Leonardo's side. He peaked up at Donatello but went back to staring at Leonardo once the door slid closed.

"I made him dinner. Just in case he wakes up." Michelangelo broke the silence. Donatello wondered how he could have ever been angry with him.

Donatello yawned and Michelangelo soon followed. "Mikey, you could go to bed." He urged for Michelangelo to move over, so that he could give Leonardo a decent look over and change some of his bandages.

"I don't want to leave him." Michelangelo's drowsy eyes were barely awake though, and Donatello realized he would probably have to put his foot down on this one.

"Well Leonardo's trying to rest, too. So maybe he could use a few hours without disturbance." Donatello wrapped a new bandage around Leonardo's wounded shoulder.

"You serious?" Michelangelo's expression was disbelief. Not sad or angry for being asked to leave, but he was actually surprised.

"Yes, Mikey." Donatello smiled though, to rule out any possibilities Michelangelo thought he was being malicious. "Just a few hours. It will do you both some good."

Michelangelo stretched his arms above his head. "What if he wakes up, though."

"You can sleep in here, Mikey. I just want to see your eyes closed." Donatello pointed at the floor. "Take a break. Go steal Leo's blankets and camp out on the floor here."

"I'm not really that sleepy." Michelangelo failed to prove his point as he yawned through his entire sentence.

"Afraid I will have to insist, Mikey." Donatello's voice was no louder, but had a slight edge to it. He was going to turn into Dr. Donatello if Michelangelo refused to cooperate.

"Dude, I'm going." Michelangelo stood and wobbled his way over to the door.

Donatello watched him leave and continued to check and rebind Leonardo's injuries. He placed a clean wash cloth on his forehead and placed a blanket over his brother.

Half an hour past and Michelangelo had yet to return. Getting to his feet, Donatello slowly made his way to the door. For the first time since the discovery of an unconscious Leonardo, he was drenched in darkness. Donatello clicked the light off, but left the door open so a shred of light illuminated the corner of the room.

It was lonely. He had no laboratory to dwindle his extra time, no Michelangelo to harass him, and his father was most likely already asleep. He smiled to himself, assuming Michelangelo had fallen asleep in Leonardo's bed, rather than just gather the blankets. Honestly, he could not blame the turtle. A bed was always preferred over a cement floor.

He relaxed in Splinter's chair for a moment to ponder what to do next. The living room was a cozy dim instead of brilliantly bright as per usual. Thanks to Leonardo's anti-light expedition. Sighing, he stared at the wall where the televisions used to be; the crumbled pile now brushed off to the side of those missing sets. And all the work he would have to do in the near future. Back to normal…

His body jumped when he realized he dozed off. He hoped it had only been a few minutes. He felt stiff now; uncomfortable as his body had relaxed, but still was not pleased with the amount of rest it obtained. Donatello nothing short of forced himself out of the chair and yawned a few times in protest.

He eyed the lair and was thankful it looked exactly the same as the last time he gazed upon it. He wandered into the kitchen, stealing a cookie from the fridge as he passed it. He groaned quietly to himself through his chewed up cookie when the clock illuminated 3:14. That was definitely more than a few minutes.

He remembered telling Michelangelo he would wake him up, but the poor turtle really did need sleep. He yawned again as he passed back into the living room. Leonardo's door shut on the second level. It was quiet, but he caught the movement. So Michelangelo was awake. He probably checked to see that Leonardo was still there and went back to sleep. Good.

Donatello thought he would do the same and slinked over to Michelangelo's door. He peaked his head inside, seeing Leonardo's silhouette on the bed. "Leo?" He questioned the darkness. Nothing responded but a faint dripping sound. He shrugged and looked towards the stairs.

He passed by his door, thinking of the mess he needed to clean up later. As he passed Raphael's door, he paused. It was closed, where as he had left it open. He gathered the courage it would take to walk through Raphael's door and lowly knocked. Of course there was no answer, but that at least meant he was probably asleep or ignoring him. His presence would not be such a surprise. Slowly, Donatello creaked open the door, moved in, and closed it behind him.

He heard Raphael's soft breathing and felt instantly relieved that the hothead had come home. Then he was guilty. For being the reason he left in the first place. Maybe he had overreacted, and Raphael would never intentionally endanger anyone. "Raph?"

He crept closer to the hammock where his brother slept. Okay, so waking up his brother was a jerk thing to do, but it was better than Raphael taking off before he was able to make amends. He placed his hand on the hothead's shoulder and slightly shook it. "Raph?"

"Sorry to wake you; you don't have to talk. Just listen to me, please." Donatello started. His speech fell flat as he realized his recipient was still snoozing away. "Come on, Raph. I know you hear me." Leonardo and Raphael were both extremely light sleepers. He was astounded he had not been noticed at the door. He shook the body again, with a little more force.

"Five more minutes…" Donatello distinctly heard the voice of his youngest brother. Michelangelo rolled his head further under the blanket.

"Mikey?" Donatello lifted the blanket from his brother's head, causing a slew of protests. "What are you doing in Raph's room?"

Michelangelo groaned, and adjusted himself without the blanket displaying no intentions to get up. "…I missed him." Michelangelo said rather pathetically.

His brother was such a baby. Donatello threw the blanket back on the turtle, but froze half way when he was adjusting it. "If you are in here. Who is in Leo's room?"

"…didn't wanna sleep in Leo's room." Michelangelo slurred.

Donatello inspected the door as if it was programmed to detonate. A shadow passed briefly through the light from under the door. Donatello stepped towards it, but Michelangelo's hand slapped across his wrist.

"How is Leo doing?"

"Still asleep. Didn't you just check on him?" Donatello spoke to his brother but never took his eyes off the light seeping in from the outside.

"Uh. No?" Michelangelo sat up in the hammock. "You feeling okay, Donnie?"

Donatello's brain analyzed the situation and he calmed down. Raphael must have come home, saw Michelangelo in his bed, and took Leonardo's room instead. No big deal. "Never better." Donatello's voice returned to normal and he freed himself from Michelangelo's grip.

"Sorry for waking you." Donatello calmly said on his way out the door. He heard Michelangelo rustling behind him, out of the hammock. Well so much for him getting any sleep.

"It's cool, dude."

Donatello snuck out the door and closed it behind him. At least Raphael was awake. Now he would not have the extra guilt of waking him. And the risk of injury. Quietly, he tiptoed to Leonardo's room and tapped on the door.

"Raph. Are you in there?" He whispered. No answer. Frankly, he was getting tired of doors. He quietly threatened to walk in if he received no answer, and he was good on his threat. He opened the door, illuminating Leonardo's plain room. No sign of life.

"Hey Donnie." Donatello clinched his fist rather than jump out of his skin. Ninjas were too freaking quiet. "Whatcha doin?" Michelangelo was behind him now, and they peered into the empty room together.

"Nothing." Donatello copped out, rather than explain how he tore into Raphael the night before. Quietly, he backed up, passed Michelangelo and hit the railing again. Michelangelo lingered in Leonardo's room.

Donatello descended the stairs, eyeing the kitchen and living area for the hothead. Since when was Raphael such a ninja? He felt five years old, playing a game of hide and seek. And he very much disliked feeling like a child again. He quickly checked the dojo, his laboratory, and any other common place his brother often occupied. No luck.

As he passed by Michelangelo's room, he slowed. Perhaps Raphael was paying their eldest brother a visit. He slowly opened the door and let a dim light flood the opposite corner of the bed. He only saw one figure sprawled out on the bed where he had left it. "Leo?" He tested to see if his brother would respond. Silence.

Almost silent. Except for that drip again. Donatello rolled his eyes, picturing Michelangelo spilling a soda and not bothering to clean it up. Or maybe Leonardo had toppled over a glass trying to move. "I'm turning on the light." He said to the darkness, just in case Leonardo was conscious but unmoving and unwilling to talk. He would hate to blind him.

He flipped the switch but nothing happened. Up. Down. Up. Down. Nothing. He sighed and moved into the room.

_Crunch_. "Ugh." Donatello lifted his foot and cursed his luck. Twice now, he stepped in glass and… glass? Hastily, he removed the shards and stepped aside, tripping over toys and Michelangelo's possessions rather than impaling his foot again.

_Step. Trip. Snag. Tangle. Step. Puddle._ Well Donatello successfully discovered both the cup its spilled contents in the dark. What a great ninja he was.

He felt along the dresser next to the bed where he knew he placed towels earlier. And he was right. He threw one down to the ground and mopped up with his foot, still hearing that accursed drip. Feeling for another towel, he found his flashlight. And he shined some light on the situation.

And jumped back immediately, landing in a pile of Michelangelo's treasures. "What the…"

He straightened the flashlight forward. And watched the red droplets steadily fall to the floor on the white towel he just laid under them.

He glanced at his own feet and hands, outlined in blood. "Oh god." He leaped back to his feet and moved in, wanting to see how badly Leonardo had hurt himself. The turtle was still strapped to the bed, though. All ropes seemed intact. A knife, exactly like the one each of them possessed, gleamed from the closest arm. _In_ that arm. Dripping his essence to the floor.

And that pained, comatose face was not Leonardo's.

"Raph! Oh Raph. Oh god." Donatello frantically grabbed for towels and bandages like he was going to use them all at once. No good. He needed to calm down. He needed to calm down to save his brother. Partially to ease himself, but mostly to help Raphael, Donatello squeezed his hand. "Raph…" He continued to work with his free hand for the moment.

Raphael started mumbling something. So he was not unconscious after all. Donatello tried to comfort him with calm words to the best of his ability. He needed help. He needed Splinter. He need- … where was Leonardo? _Mikey…_

Donatello did not want to leave Raphael, but he needed Splinter. He yelled for him but no one came fast enough. He screamed for Michelangelo but the room was not suddenly overshadowed by another presence in the doorway. So he opted to go. But as he tried to depart, if only for a minute, Raphael's hand tightened and he could not bring himself to pull away.

His eyes were still closed. He was still bleeding. But he was speaking. Trying to tell Donatello something. And so he leaned in, shivering, to hear what his brother was trying to say.

"Close your eyes… an count to… seven. When you… wake, you'll be… in heaven."

* * *

Haha, cheesy, i know i know. but i love scary movie quotes! =oD and you are totally disoriented when you're losin' blood. you can trust me.


	15. Chapter 15

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

One down.

Two to go.

Out too long. Days, months, years. It does not matter. He can not possibly be savable now. So long. So long in their clutches.

_No_. That is just what they want him to think. It is possible. Just have to find him. Find him quickly.

He crawls on the wall. Up or down, he can not tell. He is moving. Moving away from the blood. The color. The feel. The smell. It just conjures back unpleasant memories.

His entire body aches. What did they do to it? Since when can he feel again? He suddenly has the notion not feeling felt good. Fingers prickle as if they have been asleep for days. And sting like he dips them in alcohol.

But he will keep moving until there is nothing left to move.

A light shatters. His features absorb into shadow. They have not learned their lesson from the first time. Light will not save them now.

He reaches the top. Or bottom. Ledge. And fades into black. He has to find him. And find him alone. To test him. Examine. And face the fear he may be lost.

But he is fearless. So they say. Said.

His world surprisingly rewinds furiously. He grasps one arm around a steady object to keep his place. The other grips the handle of his katana. His katana, abandoned to the dark. But found again.

He sees the wall again; his bloodied fingers as he struggles. Up or down. Ducks into shadow; emerges without his weapons. Winds back into the lower room. Maybe upper. The room with the blood. His cell for the last indefinite.

World stops. Plays back. He is there again, watching his once brother bleed. Eyes no longer glowing. Nothing to indicate he is alive. Then again, he has not been alive for a very long time.

And someone is coming. Awake. He moves. Just like he did the first time. Out the door. Climbs or descends. Whatever direction the wall takes him. Blood smears. Some of it his. Some of it its.

He ponders again if it is feasible his only brother left is still good. Still waiting for him to keep him safe. Or if the monsters took him, too.

Another decision. No room for mistakes.

He prepares to take the life. To take back the body from the ghouls. Or just to make sure they never get it. It may be the only way to truly save him.

He was weak before. He can not allow that to happen again.

A light shatters. He recalls being sure he got that one already, but disregards the opinion.

Weapons. He has to find his weapons. So that the others will fall. Fall like the first. And the innocent will be saved. Saved from a fate worse than death. By death.

One down.

Three to go.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

"It's okay, Michelangelo. I'm here."

Michelangelo's blood froze under his skin. Of all the voices he expected to creep up on him, his was the very last. Even Shredder was higher on that list right now. And he was chilling on an ice cube in space.

He was too scared to turn around. Terrified to see Leonardo _not_ standing there. Donatello was panicking down below in his bedroom. There could only be one reason why.

His entire body felt cold. As frozen as his actions. If he was suddenly transparent like a ghost, he would not be surprised.

Donatello's cries had faded from his perception. Most everything but the moment had found its way out of Michelangelo's wits; even time was teetering dangerously.

He gulped. Got the air flowing to and from his lungs. Hand shaking, he gripped the railing as he slowly turned around, his shell tapping the metal banister.

If only he had the nerve to open his eyes. Leonardo would. _Always the brave one_.

The unnerving sliding of metal did finally pierce his psyche. One eye peeked nervously and his world crashed back to the appropriate surrounding.

"L-Leo?" It was only a whisper. The best he could do.

And his eldest brother stood there, occupying every inch in front of him he had to spare, brandishing his weapon carelessly at his side. He was still cut and bruised, littered with white bandages, some stained with blood running through. Blood shot eyes at half mast stared at him like he was a midnight snack. His brother was sweaty; unclean; mask less; blood splattered. And Leonardo never smirked like that.

The image blew his mind. This was everything Leonardo was not. And yet it was Leonardo.

Donatello was blaring for help behind him. But he gradually got the notion Leonardo was not going to let him _get away_. It distressed him realizing he was petrified of his brother. Though suddenly understanding that _he should be_ broke his brain.

"…Hey." Michelangelo squeezed out fretfully. There was no hiding his emotions. His teeth all but chattered fearfully as he tried his hand at speaking.

Leonardo did not respond, only twisted his head in a peculiar manner as if studying his youngest brother. Completely dazzled by the idea he could talk. Michelangelo swallowed, one hand fidgeting at his side, the other holding the bar for dear life.

Leonardo's hand not holding a katana shot out at Michelangelo unexpectedly, and he closed his eyes and cringed. It touched his face in a manner he would usually find comforting. Right now, it was all but. The warm fingers outlined his skin and his eyes crept open again.

Leonardo's eyes glowered with something menacing. Something unfamiliar. Michelangelo was lost in them, searching for his brother amongst the chaos. Leonardo heavily sighed, bringing him back to reality. Long and drawn out. Leonardo never sounded like that. And those eyes morphed to absolute sadness. Why was he sad?

Then features faded to neutral. "I'm going to save you, Michelangelo."

"Wha…?" Michelangelo's grip on the railing tightened and he used that hold to sustain his weight as he jumped onto the bar. Leonardo's katana stabbed air instead of him. Half a second later, Michelangelo was bracing himself for the bottom floor's impact, dodging another deadly thrust.

_Oh holy hell… his brother just tried to kill him._ No joke. No _"ha ha, Mikey, I got you good."_ He would have been impaled had he not reacted.

Michelangelo's attention shifted above him, expecting to see Leonardo staring down; he was beyond horrified to not see him at all.

He girlishly wailed when something squeezed his shoulder. Instinct took over. Fight or flight; and he was not in the position to run.

Michelangelo instantly seized that hand to throw past him, but in a houseful of ninjas, everyone had a contingency plan. Rather than be thrown, his target halted Michelangelo's movements by locking his elbow. His attacker did not catapult after all.

"Michelangelo." His Father. What good timing.

Splinter steadied them both, but his complete concentration was on Michelangelo's bedroom and Donatello's distraught voice. "Come with me." He pulled his son's wrist as if he ever had a choice.

Splinter did not have to tell him twice anyway. He tagged closely behind, eying every direction in a paranoid manner. He tried to tell his father what had happened but words were stuck in his throat.

Donatello faced the door when it cracked open wielding a pair of scissors as threateningly as he could muster. The turtle appeared ten years younger, panic streaming across his face.

Michelangelo finally found his voice again and started rambling. Donatello had never stopped.

Splinter appeared to hear neither, realizing the son on Michelangelo's bed was not the one he left there. Michelangelo almost gagged when an unhealthy amount of Raphael's blood gushed from his wound, through Donatello's towel. It shut him up, for the moment.

Raphael struggled. With each movement, Donatello's towel drenched further. Michelangelo watched helplessly as Donatello reacted. At least Raphael was restrained.

"Raph, please!" Donatello begged. He fought to still his brother and apply pressure to the wound the hothead was so hell bent on making worse. Not on purpose. He was reacting without his complete senses.

Somehow, Donatello managed to switch towels while keeping Raphael from hurting himself further, pour half a bottle of antibacterial medication to Raphael's bleeding appendage without losing a limb, and still was able to speak to Splinter. "Leo. He's not well. I found Raph like this. He tried to kill him, Father!"

Splinter rushed to Donatello's side. He waited for instruction. Michelangelo, on the other hand, eyed the door suspiciously, waiting for the worse.

Could anything be worse than Leonardo bursting through the door and slaughtering them all?

Well no. But the now familiar demise of all technology was very close. Lights blinked once and died completely. Electronics ceased to spin. The comforting white noise surrounding them dwindled to bitter silence. Michelangelo could not help but to whimper. He would never sleep in the dark again.

If he ever slept again.

"Sensei…" Michelangelo whined. A match lit up and Donatello's face had actually calmed. He lit a candle and got back to treating his brother by the dim light it had to offer. Michelangelo recognized Donatello's doctor mode.

"Be brave, Michelangelo." Splinter calmly said to his son. His father seemed to ponder for the moment, only half helping Donatello, who's procedures had started to be less frantic. Donatello and his Father had a small discussion between them Michelangelo was too distracted to hear, and he stepped away from the bed.

"I must find my son." Splinter gripped his walking stick that he had leaned against the edge of the bed.

"I've seen this horror flick, Sensei." Michelangelo cringed at the thought of running into Leonardo again. "And all of us get hacked up to bit sized bits and fed to tarantulas. So like… let's just stay here, 'kay?" Michelangelo considered it. No, he was not too proud to beg if necessary.

"Donatello will look after Raphael. You are to guard them both. I must find Leonardo before he brings further harm to himself." Splinter was dead set on going out there.

He hated to admit it, but his Father had a good point. Demented or not, Leonardo was his brother and he was worried sick, somewhere under the heavy heap of absolute fear that his brother was going to eat his brains like a zombie. Or his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

In the dim lighting, Michelangelo saw the outline of his Father's ears perk. A moment later, he heard it, too. The faint scraping of metal on rock. A constant scratch, though so quiet, completely filling the entire lair with an eerie hum.

"Michelangelo, cut this." Donatello wore his doctor façade. He said once that it helped him forget he was digging through his brothers. Michelangelo could not imagine anything that could take that feeling away from him. He would cringe, but he felt like he was all out of cringes for the night.

Raphael had long since stopped moving. Donatello had wrapped so many bandages and towels around his brother's right side, chances were, not even Raphael could move that injured arm.

Michelangelo studied his brother's body. Somehow Raphael resembled Leonardo; cuts and scratches littering his flesh. And he was heavily bandaged in the same places. Michelangelo found staring directly at Raphael's leg was disturbing altogether. It looked as though Raphael had resisted the restraints. The only reason his limb was securely held was because someone had grotesquely twisted it to fit. It was rather appalling.

Donatello looked as pained as Raphael should have as he pulled on Raphael's leg. A sickening pop invaded Michelangelo's senses for a moment. Donatello immediately searched for something to set the bone. Michelangelo concentrated on not vomiting.

"Listen to Donatello." When Michelangelo looked over his shoulder, his Master was gone and the door quietly clicked shut.

"And then there were two." Michelangelo whined out loud as he joined Donatello's search. Donatello spared a look but distracted himself again. He shook the contents of one of Michelangelo's shelves into a dresser drawer and broke it long ways over his knee. Moments later, he was securing the pieces to Raphael's swollen leg.

Quiet settled in again, much to Michelangelo's dismay. The scraping noise still flooded the lair with an unsettling ring.

"Oh geez…" Michelangelo patted himself down as if his weapons were somehow lodged in the sides of his shell. He realized he had no weapons. Or gear. Or anything. He left everything in Raphael's room.

And with the articulation of a bullet the scratching stopped. The lair was completely still, except for Raphael's labored breathing.

Michelangelo immediately looked to Donatello for orders. He needed to know what was going to happen next. What to do.

Donatello looked determined. "We need to hide Raphael. Or get him out of here. If at all possible." Good thing the brain had not been axed yet. Too bad for the tank, though.

"What about Sensei?" Michelangelo whined.

"Distraction." Donatello checked Raphael's pupils, checked the security of the heavy bandages now wrapped around his shoulder and entire arm, and slowly started untying the restraints.

Michelangelo's eyes went wide as Donatello sat up the unconscious turtle. Donatello did not bother looking at him. "It was his idea, Mikey…"

A minute later, Michelangelo was wondering how he got into these situations: Sneaking through his home in complete darkness, hauling his heaviest unconscious sibling as quietly as possible with a ninja axe murderer no where to be seen (that's worse than knowing where he is, mind you) that just so happens to also be his brother.

_So far, so good_. Michelangelo held in his complaints and suggestions for Raphael to diet and supported the injured mutant as he would a treasured comic collection.

They reached the door. And Donatello's hold on Raphael lowered. He followed in step and Raphael was carefully set against the wall. The turtle groaned but otherwise stayed quiet. This would be a very bad time for him to throw a tantrum.

No plan was flawless. Donatello strained to open the door and the hydraulics squeaked in their ears painfully.

Steel on concrete; just as potent as nails on a chalkboard. In the same room they occupied. Both brothers turned instinctively in a defensive position. Donatello fiddled to his side with one hand for a flashlight. Michelangelo stood ready to block a sword with his… nothing.

The flashlight illuminated the area for a half a second before dying. Leonardo flashed in their vision, stalking towards them with one sword nonchalantly dragging beside him. And he was smiling. That image burned in Michelangelo's mind eye as he fought himself to remain steady.

_Leonardo would die before he treated his katana that way_.

The flashlight clicked to life after a few love taps from Donatello. The area brightened again, but Leonardo was gone. The scraping echoed from the left, and the flashlight searched for it desperately, but to no avail. Hum ended and a hushed lull joined the blackout.

Raphael groaned from his perch on the wall. Then the shrieking of hydraulics being pulled against their will filled the air. Michelangelo stayed alert, backing against Donatello's shell as he lifted the heavy door. Sure, he could lend a hand. And they both could be decapitated conveniently at the same time, too.

Michelangelo did not hear the distinct ring of a sword cutting through air thanks to the strained groans the door made to open, but he most certainly heard the impact of wood blocking that steel. And the three contacts thereafter. A fight so close that he could feel the force of motion.

"Mikey, move… Raph." Donatello strained his orders, obviously still supporting the massive weight of their door. It was not going to stay open on its own.

Michelangelo wrapped one arm under Raphael's free shoulder and tugged him towards the entrance. He could hear his brother's low protest, but the turtle was still too out of it to fight back. As fast as he could manage, he was back in the lair, listening to the fight between his Father and brother.

Or the end of it rather. The small amount of light the now dropped flashlight offered glowed on Splinter's body after he crashed against the entrance wall. The old rat shakily stood. Michelangelo ducked as a single blade took its toll on his bandana instead. _Way too close_.

Michelangelo dodged two more attempts at his life, without losing ground to his predator. In his peripheral, Splinter limped through the door on Donatello's command. _Side step again._ Wished he had his nunchukus. _Jump_. A chilling reminder echoed through his thoughts as he missed an attempt to disarm his brother, or rather Leonardo prevented it. This was Leonardo. He rarely won skirmishes against his eldest brother. Of course the one to go crazy would have to be Leonardo the ninja master.

Leonardo growled. He actually growled. Michelangelo fought the desire to just hide. Now that Splinter was safely through the door, it was time to move. Regrettably, Leonardo had first initiative.

But Michelangelo was faster. Leonardo made an effort to jump completely over Michelangelo, whether to just lop off his head from behind or cut the defenseless Donatello, he was not sure. Naturally, on the fly, nothing ever went as planned. Instead of forcing Leonardo back to the ground, they collided. He reached for Leonardo's second sword over his shoulder in the exact moment Leonardo kicked off of him, back flipped, and landed elegantly back where he had been.

Michelangelo crashed into Donatello, and the turtle tripped awkwardly out the door. He then not so gracefully rolled to the side, avoiding being squashed to death by the screeching door.

The room spun out of control for a moment, between the knocking of the flashlight violently with his foot and his dizziness. Only instincts protected him now. And his newly obtained sword. _Not a 'chuck, but it would have to do._

When his world came to a halt, Michelangelo used his weight against the wall to lift himself up cautiously. He could faintly hear Donatello's frantic banging on the door; the shout of his name that only reached his ears in a whisper.

And the scraping of metal on cement just out of the now stationary beam of light.

"One of them." Neutral. Calm. Not a question but a statement.

"Leo, you're sick. You gotta listen to me. We aren't trying to hurt you." Michelangelo tried to reason, addressing the darkness in which the voice came. He held out the sword defensively as if to ward off any attacks.

The flashlight lifted and clicked off all at once. It landed somewhere towards the back of the lair. In hindsight, he probably should have picked that up.

Michelangelo gulped loudly. When the slicing of chilled air sang in his ears, he positioned the sword appropriately, negating several strikes in a row. He even kicked as a counter, but hit nothing. Donatello's voice had faded. He was not sure because of lack of concentration on everything not Leonardo's actions or if his brother was gone. No, they would not abandon him here.

Opposite katana sliced through his forearm, but he maintained the sword in which Leonardo tried to steal back. Bleeding. He was bleeding. Not so bad, he was about to panic again.

"Leo, you don't want to hurt me." Michelangelo's sword flew from his hand and a hard heel planted into his plastron. The turtle's first instinct was to double over from the impact, but a force stopped him. Leonardo's arm wrapped tightly around his midsection from behind. The cold blade rested on his collar bone.

"Leo!" Michelangelo fought the urge to struggle. The blade did not move with him and he felt it ever so slightly slice into the delicate under of his chin. _This was how he was supposed to die?_ Lame.

"Please, Leo…" Michelangelo's teeth grinded together and his eyes snapped shut as he awaited his fate.

Leonardo eerily shushed Michelangelo; the breath so close it warmed his ear. The only part of his body for the moment he could even feel.

"It's okay, Michelangelo. I'm here."

* * *

OooOooOoooOooooooOOOOooOOOoo.....


	17. Chapter 17

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Actions reverse.

He can hear the shell grating against the wall. As if it can watch his back. His brother is close. If it is his brother. None of that matters now. So he moves forward.

As painful as this is going to be, it must be done. And quickly. To save him. To save their memory. So that he can find the others. And drain the carcasses of the foreign presence before they hurt someone else.

It is the right thing to do. And he is going to risk all to do it.

He moves. His target is unaware. Breathing slows. Estimates where his target is positioned. Most vital appendages located. Where the stolen katana resides.

And he strikes.

Room whirls around him. His actions go by before his eyes and he is helpless but to watch. Predestined. Though he notices no flaws in his movements, he fails to slay his target. Disappointing. Everything passes by so fast, like a movie in fast forward. It is nauseating.

Time flies by. And he has his mark at his mercy; quivering under him, blade to his neck. Pity convinces him to sooth the creature before he bleeds it out. Hatred hurries the blade on its way before he can have second thoughts.

He administers the execution order but nothing is there to receive the sharp edge. Frantically, he checks his arms as if somehow he has managed to hide the creature only a tad smaller than he.

Nothing.

He is gone. Escaped from his clutches in a moment of reflection. More trickery. Pranks from the ghouls.

He should have thought him capable. A mistake.

His blood boils under his skin. He is one of them. He comforted him. Held him close. Tried to save him. But he was gone all along.

He is alone. It settles uncomfortably in his mind. His entire life flashes. Good times, bad times. Everything he has ever known. All for nothing.

He speaks calmly to himself. Reminders of the better times. Keeps himself stable.

Eye on the target. Complete the mission.

Deal with the loneliness later.

Bring honor back to his fallen family by slaying their slaughterers. Join them as soon as possible.

What good is a leader with no one to lead?

That is the plan. His last strategy. The one thing left to do.

With newfound strength, he finds the will to go on.

The door is to his back. The only way out. The noisy contraption has not budged. He is still here. Still running. Still hiding.

But not for long.


	18. Chapter 18

Verge of Tangibility - Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: If I owned ninja turtles, fast forward would have never existed.

Warning: Turtles are close, and maybe some hints of slash, but that's mainly just so I can treat them like scary movie characters and make them split up like retards...

* * *

Michelangelo felt along his neck as if making sure his head was still attached. Too close. A thin moist line proved that true. But Leonardo had stopped. Freaked out or something, letting him go and attacking the darkness. It was mind boggling. But he took his opportunity to run. To get away from the danger. Only to find himself trapped in their home with no other way out than the corridor Leonardo stood.

Unable to hide in a room. The slightest creak of a door and Leonardo would find him. No touching anything. Stay out of non concrete areas, else the floor my squeak and alert Leonardo to his presence. This was like stealth training from hell.

A part of him believed Leonardo stopped himself from hurting his little brother. It was reassuring that there was something left to save. Michelangelo did not understand the medical jargon behind what was happening, but he knew it would be months before he saw his brother in a non frightening light.

A familiar voice cut through the darkness, but rather than respond, he buried himself further into the corner he occupied. Leonardo was calling for him now. No longer worried about stealth. Hell, he did not need it. Michelangelo never paid half as much attention to his ninjitsu skills as the eldest brother. Too late to be sorry about that, though.

"Beware the stare of Raphael…" Michelangelo thought he could not be any more creeped out, but here he found himself, trying not to listen to his brother's monotone remembrance of a childhood rhyme. "He was born with a rotten shell."

"That was not the real verse, Michelangelo. Do you remember that?" The voice moved around the room, wherever his brother roamed. Or maybe it was a trick of echoes. He had no idea.

"Beware the stare of Mary Shaw." Leonardo sited the real verse of the children's poem from the middle of the room. "She had no children, only dolls." His voice was emotionless. He just said the words slowly, only slightly annunciating as the poem had intended.

Michelangelo swallowed. This was not happening.

"If you see her in your dreams…" Something was unfortunate enough to be cut in half by Leonardo's katana. Michelangelo ducked his head. He could not just stay here. He had to think of something. And he could not run. He had to save Leonardo as well. "…make sure you never ever scream."

Michelangelo tried to concentrate, but the voice was getting closer. Maybe _demented Leo _could see in the dark. Not a supportive concept for the turtle.

"It was not nice to change the words, Michelangelo." Leonardo lectured. "You hurt Raphael's feelings. It was a naughty thing to do."

"I read to you the real rhyme. When you asked. And many others. Do you remember?"

Nothing came to mind. There was a reason he was not relied upon heavily for good ideas in vital moments. He tried to think, but Leonardo's approaching voice shook him up. He could fight. He could always fight. But it was not in him to hurt Leonardo, where as Leonardo had displayed what he was willing to do to him.

"Would you like to hear another one, Michelangelo?" He could hear his steps now. One foot. And eventually another. He was taking his sweet time. It dawned on Michelangelo that Leonardo may be enjoying these petty torments.

"…Here comes a candle…" Leonardo paused. His feet did as well. "…to light you to bed." He was even with him now in the room. As close as he hoped he would get. But he knew better than to depend on that.

"Here comes a chopper to chop off your head." Michelangelo held his breath.

"Chip chop. Chip chop… the last man is dead." Leonardo knocked over something loud to emphasis _dead_. Or it was just a disturbing coincidence. "That was your favorite line, Michelangelo. I even skipped the boring part. Just for you."

Foot steps grew fainter now. Michelangelo breathed out. He was really missing company right about now. The kind of company not trying to slit his throat.

From the entrance side of the lair, Michelangelo heard low signs of machinery springing back to work. It was the happiest moment in his entire life. Somehow he managed to stifle his excitement and keep his head in the process.

"Mikey!" Donatello's voice was music to his ears. Michelangelo risked a peak around his corner. Though the elevator only hosted a dim lighting system, it was bright for the pitch black lair. So Donatello got the elevator working. Figures, since it did not run from electricity. He would have to remember to tell his genius brother how much he loved him.

Donatello's silhouette was suddenly overtaken by another from the shadows. "Donnie!" He yelled as a late warning, but of course Donatello knew someone was on top of him. Michelangelo jumped from his hiding place to join the brawl.

Leonardo's head tilted back when the business end of Donatello's extra bo caught him in the jaw. Still, the turtle seemed uninterested in the pain he experienced, and he stabbed downwards with his sword. Michelangelo toppled his eldest brother away from Donatello and the sword missed its target.

Michelangelo tried to hold Leonardo, but leader weaseled out of his grapple with little effort and kicked him to the side. The sword swung wide, causing Michelangelo and Donatello to both straggle backwards to avoid it. Leonardo hopped to his feet, ready to take on two enemies.

Being willing to actually kill his targets gave him a distinct advantage.

Two brothers fought to restrain their sibling. Or take him down in the least painful way, but Leonardo was no easy mark. Cuts and serious bruises appeared on their flesh as the attempts wore on; Leonardo's own wounds opened and bled. But he showed no signs of slowing down.

Donatello was breathing harder after the insane length of time they struggled with their brother and battled to stay alive. He still continued, though. Michelangelo had a similar hope, waiting until that moment where Leonardo would just collapse from exhaustion. Because two people had the potential to last much longer than one. They orchestrated their attacks, as taught by their master, to wear out their enemy. Leonardo's skill dwindled, but he merely faded from Leonardo-like form to Raphael-ish brute attacks. It was strange to see, and Michelangelo was ready to loose his previous meal or his arm if he had to keep this up much longer.

Donatello lost his bo and Leonardo's katana sliced the back of his knee all in one motion. Lacking the grace of a ninja, he plopped down on his plastron as his leg gave up support on the landing.

Michelangelo shielded him from further attack to the best of his ability. Donatello spoke, though he was too absorbed in protecting him to understand fully. Things would be a lot better if Leonardo did not have that sword.

Michelangelo's knee contacted the hilt, and a moment later, Leonardo was punching at him, rather than stabbing. Michelangelo handled the hilt as a shield for several strikes before flinging the sword over his shoulder and catching Leonardo's wrist. He moved to trip him but found himself grounded instead, Leonardo on top.

Donatello, with his good leg, kicked away the gleaming object in Leonardo's possession and Leonardo hopped up. "Mikey, we're going to kill him!"

Donatello's previous statement finally registered as one and the same with those words. He thought about how tired he was and how he was only doing half the work Leonardo had displayed thus far; the stress on his body from other damages and his state of mind. His heart was going to give if he kept this up.

"Leonardo, please." Michelangelo pleaded, though he did not expect it to work. He had no ideas to remedy the situation. He desperately hoped the genius was still in the game.

"Elevator." Donatello retrieved his staff as he limped backwards, still keeping a vigilant eye on Michelangelo and Leonardo. "Now, Mikey."

Michelangelo jumped backwards, too afraid to turn his back to Leonardo and did as he was told. He watched Donatello's back, rather, as the turtle jumped into the elevator and all but collapsed in a puddle of his own blood. Michelangelo activated the control and followed.

When Leonardo jumped into the elevator too, just as the doors closed shut, Michelangelo convinced himself that was all part of the plan. And proceeded to keep his brother from being pummeled to a pulp.

There was nothing in the elevator. Except a dim glow from the crystals, which was not doing any good for the moment. At least Leonardo lost his swords. Not that he was any less deadly.

A moment later, the doors opened at the street level. But the dark, dank garage did little to comfort him. At least until it offered a reinforcement.

Splinter's walking stick deflected Leonardo's fist that would have left Michelangelo seeing stars. "Leonardo, stop this assault on your brothers." Splinter still tried to reason with him. His words appeared to make no difference.

Leonardo's body was screaming for medical attention, even Michelangelo could recognize that. His brother was going to continue until he fell over dead. It was too much. Almost killing him. Killing himself. He was sick. He needed rest, not overexertion.

Michelangelo wrestled with one of his brother's limbs, but he slipped away. He tried to trip him, but hit the ground himself. From his back, he kicked up, at least trying to unbalance Leonardo in some way, but he was barely an inconvenience.

Frustrated, he closed his eyes for just a moment. Just to rest them. To refocus; a brief meditation period to keep him from crying and screaming all at the same time.

But a moment was all it took. Leonardo's heel impacted with his forehead and Michelangelo was at his limit. The world shifted to grey and then black around him, sounds ceased to be heard, and finally he no longer had the willpower to open his eyes.

He wondered if this was what death was like.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Michelangelo!" Donatello ignored the pain in the back of his leg, wanting desperately to get to his baby brother. Leonardo was not about to let that happen, though. At least Splinter kept the turtle somewhat occupied, as to not give him the time to turn and administer a final blow. If he had not already.

One by one his family was falling, Leonardo included. No one was clear from danger, not even him. And though injured, Donatello was in the best shape. It was a saddening thought. Brawn was not working. It was time to develop a plan.

He tried once more to get to Michelangelo, but a warning from Splinter's walking stick, that Leonardo now possessed, stopped that from happening.

Donatello wiped sweat from his brow, flanking Leonardo to give Splinter an offensive advantage. He had already surveyed the garage. Its power was as dead as a doorknob, just like the lair. But he had to find something. His father was old. Michelangelo and Raphael were both down and out. And Leonardo risked a heart failure every frenzied swing he took.

Mind shifted through details. Leonardo was going to fight until he was dead. Locking him in the lair was his initial plan, though still far from perfect. He would have possibly resorted to hurting himself. No good. Elevator. Same deal. _Think_.

Splinter flew through the exit by Leonardo's hand. For the first time since the original skirmish, Donatello saw massive fatigue weighing down his brother's face. His eyes were terrifying, though. There was nothing left but desperation.

The walking stick stabbed at Michelangelo's fragile neck. Donatello's hand took the blow instead. He gripped the stick, despite the pain and pulled Leonardo down. Leonardo's counter was a jump back out of the way. It was not as impressive as one would expect. He leaned his heaving body on the doorframe. Blood trickled out of wounds, from his mouth and nose. It was a miserable sight.

The crystal in the elevator blinked as if waiting for the command to venture down. Donatello's eyes lazily shifted to it. And then they went wide.

He propelled himself towards Leonardo, using his full body to knock the turtle out of the elevator. He punched the controls as he exited as well, and the elevator snapped closed and lowered. With Michelangelo still inside. At least he was safe.

Donatello's thoughts shifted back to the beginning. When the mess had all started. To the simplest of thoughts. And it gave him an idea.

Theory had it the sun should be up by now. As long as it rose in the east today and not the west, maintained relative time as it had been observed doing since the beginning of time, and still existed, evidence suggested that chances were, behind the thick metal shutters currently blocking the windows, there would be sunlight.

Though only theory, it was the best plan he had. Apparently his mind was being facetious to accuse the sun of vanishing just to spite him. Leonardo was going to collapse soon. But he refused to be grappled by Splinter, who was also worn out.

He felt somewhat drained and definitely dizzy, courtesy of the gash on the back of his leg. He had no bandana, else he would have at least covered it already. His hand was doing a poor job. Despite his hardships, Donatello limped his way to the closest wall and leaned against it. He gripped a long, rusty chain hanging from the window at least a story above him. Now was a poor time to realize his garage was massive.

The chain pulley, immobile for many years, traced back to the other chains connected to the windows far from the ground. In turn, one substantial chain led to the master gear occupying a wall across the way. Of course it was the farthest point from his current location. _Turtle luck, true to form_. Raphael's snappy voice sounded in his head.

Donatello hobbled his way, cutting across the room. Leonardo still viciously swung at his Master; their Sensei leaning heavily on his walking stick. Apparently he reacquired it.

His hand rested on the old manual turn-style pulley, thankful the thing did not rely on electricity. Donatello considered his actions. The implications, what could go wrong, and what if it did not work. Leonardo teetered dangerously on the verge of his sanity and the last thing he wanted was to be the bee that buzzed him off.

Splinter fell. And made no attempts to get up. Leonardo huffed and puffed over him, gathering his strength to induce a finishing blow. Time was up; Donatello cranked the pulley.

The damn thing resisted Donatello's tug. He struggled with the rusty device, fearfully glancing back at his Father. Leonardo was poised ready to attack.

A green blur jumped across Donatello's vision just as the gears started turning under his strength. Michelangelo was now pinned under his brother, but Splinter was pierce-free.

Slower than he would like, the chains became taught and the metal shutters were disturbed from their peace with a loud protesting screech. Donatello shielded his eyes, as sunlight poured into the space.

And Leonardo sounded as though he was being burned alive. Immediately, Donatello knew he had made a mistake.

Leonardo thrashed violently, screaming at the top of his lungs. Michelangelo all but attached to the turtle, wrapping his arms tightly around his flailing brother. Donatello watched helplessly from his distance, already stumbled towards the scene.

The shrieking gradually grew quiet; Donatello wondered if both of his brothers were unconscious when he kneeled next to them. Michelangelo's eyes were tightly closed; his body was shaking. Leonardo looked dead.

Donatello's hand brushed over his brother's beak, praying to be proven wrong. An unhealthy staggered breath clung to his flesh. It was better than nothing. His pulse was erratic. He wanted nothing more than to pass out next to his brothers, but Leonardo may not be there when he awoke.

The exhausted turtle desperately wanted to accept an order. But he was the last one standing. Dragging Leonardo to more appropriate surroundings was not an option. He was so very tired.

"Tell me what to do, Donnie." The voice of an angel. Donatello's eyes locked with Michelangelo's as they opened to meet him. They were distraught and "Un-Mikey-ish" in everyway, but he needed his little brother to need him.

All protective instincts in his body took over and he found some newfound energy stored away for such an occasion. Granted it was not much, but it would have to do. Donatello breathed calmly for a moment before finally willing himself to move his aching body.

"They need us, Mikey. Let's go." Donatello gently hoisted Leonardo's arm. A wobbly but willing Michelangelo took the other side.

"Is it over?" Michelangelo quizzed his brother. He seemed life drained. Distant.

Donatello pondered about the difficult trek to the lair; the two other worn and broken family members in need of their assistance; the long road to recovery that awaited them all; and the extra, extra precautions that were going to be taken for Leonardo until he proved to be otherwise sane.

"Just lie to me, dude. I'm gullible."

* * *

The End.

That's right. The heroes are walkin' off into the sunset. That usually means it is over.

I'm sorry if the ending seemed.. rushed. There was just nothing more to add. And I am not a fan of splitting perspectives at all, but adding two more chapters for Donatello's two pages seemed a bit silly to me, so i dealed. I hope it was enjoyable and I really hope you enjoyed my B movie horror flick, hehe.

It was all out by Halloween, as promised. There may be an epilogue to show the dramas that follow, but no promises. Thank you for reading!


End file.
